Harry Potter and the Fortress of Spirits
by ronalda
Summary: FORMAT EDITED, CHAP 19 UP: harry goes into a Pensieve of Aetius and sees a few battles, and soon he'll see the one where Aetius gets injured, either right at the end of this, or another bit after, your vote
1. CHAPTER ONE

HARRY POTTER  
AND THE FORTRESS OF SPIRITS  
  
Disclaimer: (I do know it's a big one, by the way) I do not own Harry Potter or any of the previously-known characters from the first five books. I have not copyrighted this, so feel free to borrow ideas, just not the story exactly, please. If any parts of this story seem to come from others (except the ones by JKR), it is coincidence. Any parts of this story that reflect on real people, living or dead, is purely coincidence, etc. I'll get to work now. . . .  
  
Harry lay on the floor panting hard and fast. He looked up. A man in a long black cloak was pointing a wand at Harry's forehead.  
  
"Give me the prophecy!" the man shouted.  
  
A sharp pained seared across the lightning scar on his forehead, which was now sharply in view, a dangerous shade of red.  
  
"I don't have it! It smashed a long time ago!" Harry tried to yell back, but only a harsh rasp emitted from his voice.  
  
"Fine, watch your godfather die then," said the man cruelly. Harry watched in horror as his godfather, Sirius Black fell through a tattered black veil and disappeared. Harry blacked out.  
  
He awoke some minutes later in a dark, empty room . . . no, not empty. Someone was sitting in the corner of the room . . . talking to himself . . . no he was holding something. Harry moved closer to see what it was, when—  
  
"Harry Potter!" Harry woke up abruptly, covered in sweat. Just a dream, he told himself, just a dream. This is what happens when you see something like that a few weeks earlier. But the second part of the dream, he asked, what was that? Before he could devote any time to this question, his aunt, Petunia, called again from the stairs. Harry returned it with an, "I'm coming, I'm coming," He got dressed and lumbered down bad-temperedly. Ever since Harry had arrived at number four Privet Drive he had been in a horrible mood. This was mainly because his only relatives, the Dursleys, his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and enormous cousin Dudley, inhabited it, and they had always, and continued, to treat Harry like a dog that had just jumped out of a dumpster full of toxic waste.  
  
Because Harry Potter was a very unusual boy. He had all the problems of an average teenager, like school (where almost everybody had thought him a liar until a few weeks ago), homework (lots of that, particularly a very nasty piece of Transfiguration work he had to do over the holidays), his friends, Ron, and Hermione (with whom he had started to fight with more and more often, and they had broken contact for a week until Hermione had written a letter of apology), but he also happened to be an underage wizard with the fate of the world resting on his shoulders. . . .  
  
A prophecy had been made almost seventeen years ago, foretelling Harry's birth. The prophecy had said that he would have to kill the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, or be killed by him, because 'neither could live while the other survived'. . . .  
  
This prophecy had been revealed to Harry a little over a month ago, after Harry had been lured to the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic by Voldemort himself, culminating in his godfather's death.  
  
Harry had almost gone mad with grief (when he came back from the death of his god-father he had almost destroyed the headmaster's office) and though the past few weeks he had been able to control himself, his temper had not been improved by this at all. It was all he could do to wait another week and a half for his birthday, when his friend Ron and his father be taking him from the Dursleys.  
  
He ambled into the kitchen to see his three least favorite people in the Muggle world: his cousin Dudley, who was impossible to miss, due to the fact that he was as round as he was tall and the K-Mart at which Aunt Petunia did her shopping didn't stock clothes big enough for him anymore; his Uncle Vernon, who was big, beefy, sported an enormous and very bushy moustache, who's girth Dudley had inherited; and his bony, horse-faced Aunt Petunia, who spent much of her life squinting with her beady eyes into the many windows of the neighborhood. "Fix breakfast now boy, I'm going to work early." Uncle Vernon barked as way of greeting. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," replied Harry mechanically. "Get the mail," snapped Aunt Petunia, who was not a morning person. Harry complied. Breakfast passed uneventfully and Harry went back upstairs to his room after he finished it. The Dursleys were not halfway through theirs yet; his had been several times smaller and, therefore, quicker than theirs, and he walked into his room and sat down on his bed. The Daily Prophet, Britain's wizarding world's most popular newspaper, (though Harry's opinion of it had not been helped by the fact that they had been slandering and dirtying his name for over a year, and had denied doing it just last week) was due any minute; Harry took out a Knut from his desk drawer and put it down on the desk. Sure enough, the Daily Prophet was delivered two minutes later. Harry gave the owl a Knut and as it flew away, Harry glanced down at the headline:  
  
FUDGE ON PROBATION BY THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC AND A HEARING IN AUGUST  
  
Yesterday afternoon, writes James Crosby, Cornelius Fudge stood  
before the Wizengamot charged for the affairs regarding He-Who-Must-  
Not-Be-Named. Fudge and his office have all been brought under the  
court's scrutiny regarding this and why they didn't listen to the  
You-Know-Who reports from the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus  
Dumbledore, and his witness, Harry Potter. (see sec. D, pp. 2-4)  
Currently, the undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores J. Umbridge,  
has been sacked, while the junior assistant, Percival I. Weasley  
has resigned his post. The private assistant to the Minister, James  
Groves, has been put on probation by the Wizengamot.  
Weasley has announced that he is sorry for what he said about his  
family and a certain letter written to his brother, Ronald Weasley.  
(see section C, pp 4-5)  
The court meeting has still not finished, and will resume this  
afternoon again. It is expected to take over a month until the  
final verdict for Cornelius Fudge.  
Election booths are already being set up by Magical Maintenance in  
the Ministry of Magic building on the second floor. The  
International Confederation of Wizards has already begun a search  
for a new candidate to represent them in Great Britain and Abroad.  
Meanwhile, the Ministry of Magic has just finished delivering its  
new safety pamphlets, which tells how to repel dementors, how to  
duel, and how to resist mind spells and curses. It also includes a  
list of known Death Eaters.  
More are being printed in other languages for France, Turkey, the  
Middle East, and Japan. They are expected to be finished sometime  
this month.  
According to the Daily Prophet reporter, Johannes Belliflew, Fudge  
has been acting very strangely. Yesterday Fudge was rumored to be  
speaking to two Goblins from Gringotts, who had been fired for  
unconfirmed robbery of a high-security, level-nine vault.  
Mrs. D. Callswell expresses her concern, "'If Fudge is really  
meeting with these goblins then there may be something that Fudge  
is planning with Gringotts. Fudge may be trying to steal gold to  
bribe the judge of his hearing, Sir David W. Barden, a judge with a  
dark past of back-room dealings. Though he seems to have repented,  
maybe Fudge is breaking into the back of his mind with some gold.'  
"  
Madame A. Bones, the head of the Law Enforcement Dept. disagrees  
with this view, though.  
"'If Fudge would be giving bribes to official judges, he would  
jeopardize his position forever, and anyway, what would he gain by  
trying to bribe one judge, if he will lose the majority?"  
When asked about the rumors of goblins, Madame Bones answered that  
she does not know whether the rumors are true, and declined further  
comment.  
The hearing is denied to the public, and the only people present  
will be the judges, plaintiffs, defendants, and witnesses called  
before the hearing.  
However, there will be one hearing open to the public sometime in  
August, the Wizengamot has reported, in the Quidditch World Cup  
Stadium, which is being used for its size.  
  
Harry walked over to his bed happily and sat down. This was the best piece of news he had heard in a long time. Harry gazed at the window absentmindedly, and suddenly an owl swooped down. He opened the window and jumped back just in time as the owl, a brown screech, flew in and landed on the bed. It was from Hogwarts. It read:  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the  
first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from Kings Cross station,  
platform nine and three quarters, at eleven o'clock.  
Also note that your O.W.L. grades have come from the examiners. They  
are as follows:  
  
1. Astronomy 073-A  
Mr. Potter showed skill at the written exam, only making a few  
mistakes, but had a drastic practical one due to the fact that he  
wasn't paying attention to the exam and focusing on other things.  
He has not been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Astronomy. That wasn't so bad, Harry thought. After all, he had had much more pressing things on his mind, and he couldn't care less that he hadn't been accepted. He wouldn't have gone to the O.W.L. class even if he had been. He went back to his letter,  
1. Charms 092-E  
Mr. Potter showed great skill at his practical Charms O.W.L., only  
making a few slight mistakes which were quickly rectified. He also  
had a great written exam, defining hard and complex charms with  
ease. He has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Charms. Harry's heart leapt at that, and he thought one down, three to go. If he passed Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions . . . well, if he passed Potions, then he passed everything.  
1. Defense Against the Dark Arts 110-O  
Mr. Potter showed amazing talent and skill at his Defense Against  
the Dark Arts examinations, both practical and written.  
Particularly, he performed well above the level of an average fifth  
year in the practical and scored a perfect O.W.L., with a bonus  
because of a Patronus Charm, earning him the highest-ever score  
held at Hogwarts for the past seven hundred years. He has been  
accepted into Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Yes!" yelled Harry, punching the air. "Shut up, boy!" yelled Aunt Petunia from the kitchen.  
Harry rolled his eyes and continued.  
1. Divination 026-D  
Mr. Potter has absolutely no skill at Divination. His exam was  
abysmal. He particularly had trouble with the crystal ball, finally  
trying to make up something to see in it. He has not been accepted  
into N.E.W.T. level Divination. Surprise, surprise, thought Harry sarcastically, the whole class is so pointless that it could be used for detention from other classes. Harry was not perturbed in the least by this news. He had expected it, and he was rather happy that he could now drop it. He went back to the parchment,  
1. Herbology 085-E  
Mr. Potter showed average skill in this subject, with a written  
exam score of eighty four percent and a practical one of eighty  
six. He showed some talent in the definitions of many plants, but  
was unable to control some of them in the practical exam,  
sustaining a few bites and scratches from various plants.  
Nonetheless, Mr. Potter has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level  
Herbology. Harry thought about this one for a bit. He knew that Herbology could come in handy during Auror training for making potions; Hermione had lectured him about it last year. He went back to the sheet.  
1. Potions 087-E  
Mr. Potter showed average skill in his practical exam, brewing his  
potion so that it would invigorate a person enough for about an  
hour and a half, but his written exam was very poorly done, except  
for the effects of the Polyjuice Potion and a few others. Mr.  
Potter has not been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Potions. Harry's heart dropped down to somewhere near his waistline. He was not accepted into the N.E.W.T. level Potions . . . his chances of becoming an Auror had just been dashed. He went back to his sheet angrily, knowing that it didn't really matter so much anymore. . . .  
1. Transfiguration 088-E  
Mr. Potter showed above average skill in this area, Transfigurating  
and Vanishing exceptionally well, though missing a few questions on  
his written O.W.L. Mr. Potter has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level  
Transfiguration.  
  
Professor Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress  
  
Harry was angry. He could not become an Auror. . . . He tried not imagining Ron and Hermione's expressions of pity and sorrow when they would here it. At least there's no more Snape . . . he thought miserably.  
  
Harry decided to go downstairs again and find some lunch in the fridge. He entered the kitchen to the sound of Dudley's new television. It had to be his fourth or fifth at least; there were three smashed ones in his bedroom, one which Dudley had stuck his foot through when his favorite show had been canceled, another which he had hurled a Harry listened with half an ear until the news hit him.  
  
". . . and it seems that there has been yet another freak attack on a small village in northern England called Little Hangleton. Two men were discovered unblemished, though unmistakably dead last night at midnight.  
  
"Strange activity has been going in that region for the past few nights. Three houses were broken into and searched, though nothing of value was taken. The weird thing about these break-ins is, Jim," said one reporter to the second, "that the locks on the doors were not forced, no windows broken, or anything that occurs in normal break-ins.  
  
"Also in southeast Wales, a small town called Bridgetown was hit by the as- of-yet-unknown terrorists, who targeted the church of the town and burnt it together with the hundred and fifty congregants gathered there. Most of them were killed and seventeen were wounded, one severely in the head, who muttered something about a crack and red light, but officials do not know what to make of this except that he must have been delusional. . . .  
  
"Another three reports in southern Scotland, this time. The first one, in a small shopping center, in the cinema, an eyewitness claims to have seen a flash of light and then all the lights blew, and by the time they came back on there was nobody there.  
  
"Another report just came in fifteen minutes ago from north-east France, in a small town called — er — anyway, a similar story came out — the flashes of light and nobody there and no forced doors.  
  
"The Prime Minister issued a warning to people, actually agreed on unanimously by Parliament (probably the first time ever) that people should avoid public spaces such as malls and cinemas until the threat is cleared. And now to Fred McAllen on the weather . . ."  
  
So Voldemort had started killing Muggles, thought Harry dully. The wizarding world had finally realized that he had indeed come back, something they had been in denial of for over a year, so Voldemort had nothing to lose by continuing the reign of terror he had inflicted upon the magical world more than twenty five years ago.  
  
That afternoon, Uncle Vernon did something Harry had never seen him do. He smiled at Harry and asked in the most polite voice Harry had ever heard him use, "Harry, Dudley and I are going to the theater to see an act, want to come, son?"  
  
Not knowing why Uncle Vernon was doing this, but playing it nicely with him, Harry answered, "Okay, but when are we leaving?"  
  
"Tonight, half past nine," answered Uncle Vernon with a smile.  
  
Bemused, but none the less slightly pleased, Harry went to his room and sat down by his desk. He knew that London was only a few hours flight for Hedwig, and if he sent a quick letter he might just be able to get the answer tonight.  
  
Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Mr. Weasley,  
  
I'm fine right now, though I wish I could come to you guys now. By the way, a strange thing just happened: my uncle invited me to the theater tonight, and I want to know if I can go or not. I'm not exactly sure why they are taking me anyway; it's not in the Dursleys' nature to be normal or kind to the Potters. Please send Hedwig back with a reply A.S.A.P. because the play starts at ten and we are leaving at nine thirty. Say hello to Ron and Hermione from me if they're there.  
  
Harry  
  
Harry folded the letter, tied it to Hedwig's leg, whispered, "As fat as you can, okay Hedwig?" and let her through the open window. He did not know why, but suddenly going to the theater had seemed very important and he really wanted to go. He felt his scar suddenly give a small throb but disregarded it. It didn't seem very important, only going to the play did. . . . Hedwig returned at a quarter to nine, her wings trailing behind her, and her breath coming very short, which was probably because she had just flown full speed all the way to London and back. He gave her some water and looked over the letter quickly. It read:  
  
Harry,  
  
Dumbledore says it's fine and you can go, but he asked if you are feeling all right for some reason. He also said to bring your wand just in case. There have been no attacks in the Little Whinging area as far as we can see, which is quite a lot, and Voldemort is very systematic; he won't go out of a certain path to attack, so Dumbledore says you can go and bring your wand. Harry, I mean this, bring your wand with you everywhere you go, even the bathroom. Always have it on or near you in case of anything out of the ordinary. The Ministry has relinquished the Decree of Underage Wizardry, section C, which talks about the use of a wand. You are allowed to use it in emergencies without a problem. Hope you have a good time tonight.  
  
Lupin and Tonks  
  
Ps. Moody and Arthur are not here, but Ron and Hermione are, and they say to have a good time and they really miss you.  
  
Harry smiled slightly at the letter, but his heart gave great bounds of joy— he could go.  
  
At nine fifteen, Uncle Vernon came up to Harry's room in a dark suit and tie and asked in the politest tone Harry had ever heard him use if he was ready to go yet. Uncle Vernon said that he was taking them to the act because he had once been an actor in this very play many years ago.  
  
They got into Uncle Vernon's brand new car, a Mercedes, and drove to the theater, which was fifteen minutes away. Harry checked that his wand was in his back pocket, which it was, and he settled into the comfortable car seat upon which he was lounging on.  
  
Uncle Vernon parked the car in an almost full parking lot, and Harry and Dudley stepped out. Dudley remarked that Harry was looking nice, the nicest thing he had ever said to Harry in his entire life. Harry wondered vaguely why the Dursleys were suddenly being so nice to him.  
  
They got tickets at a booth that hung up a "Sold out" sign when they left, and Harry and the Dursleys walked into the theater. They were five minutes early and slow, boring music was droning in from hidden microphones.  
  
The play began, and it was so exciting, that Harry, quite caught up in the action of it, almost forgot that the Dursleys were even there with him.  
  
The actors of the play were superb and performed such amazing stunts that Harry doubted he would be able to do even with magic.  
  
Near the end of the play, five of the performers stood in a line, and three more jumped from springboards, flipping and back-flipping alternatively, landed on the fives' outstretched arms, and one more actor stood on a see- saw, was shot up by three men onto the top of the three, and someone passed him a tall pole with a seat on the top. The top actor took hold of it firmly, and another man was punted up by the see-saw, into the seat. The crowd went wild, but suddenly the middle actor on the bottom sneezed and dropped. The whole pyramid tumbled down in a cloud of dust. A fan went on and cleared it away, and Harry's jaw dropped— the actors had landed in a pyramid on the floor, with the pole balancing—  
  
"I have to go to the restroom, Dad," said Dudley suddenly. Harry spun around in his seat, a little unnerved at the sudden sound. "Where is it, Dad?"  
  
"We'll find it together, okay?" said Uncle Vernon, with a strange sort of smile. "Stay here, Harry, we'll be right back,"  
  
Harry nodded and Dudley and Uncle Vernon left. Suddenly a few things happened at once. A jet of light, like a laser, shot at the overhead lights of the theater, plunging it into darkness; several people screamed; Harry felt a severe burning in his scar, before something cold hit him over the head crashing him off his chair, unconscious. . . .  
  
* * * 


	2. CHAPTER TWO

Harry woke up on the floor of a dark, cold room. His whole head was in agony, and as he touched it he felt a big bump over his right ear. There was some dried blood as well. He tried to sit up, but someone pushed him down roughly. "Stay down, Potter," said a cold and heavily accented voice sharply. Harry did so, partly because it was less work than sitting or standing, and partly because the hand was still pushing him down.  
  
"Where am I?" Harry muttered, more to himself than to the cold voiced person. However, the person answered.  
  
"You in our world, Potter, Lord Voldemort's world. You are in his cells under his new and secret fortress to the puny efforts of the 'Order'." He put the last word in the same tone that Aunt Petunia used when describing a particularly hard-to-rid piece of dirt on her beloved walls.  
  
"Who are you?" asked Harry quizzically. He wondered whether or not the man would answer him.  
  
"My name is Orthopedis. I am Spanish." He said shortly. "I am Dark Lord's jail keeper. Don' ask any more queschinks, okay?"  
  
Harry grunted in reply; he had a splitting headache adding together with the rest of his body in fiery pain, he could hardly get any words out as it was. He slumped down into the most comfortable position on the cold, hard floor he could and tried falling asleep, dwelling on Orthopedis' words. ". . . secret fortress to the puny efforts of the Order. . . . Dark Lord's jail keeper." Meaning he was Voldemort's prisoner. He was good as dead. . . . Unless he could escape, of course. . . . But that seemed out of the option; hadn't Orthopedis said that he was in a different world, meaning a different dimension? After a few minutes of these comforting thoughts chasing each other around in his head, Harry finally fell into an uneasy sleep.  
  
Harry woke up several hours later, to the snores of Orthopedis. It must have been the middle of the night. Harry got up quietly, edged to the wall, and felt around in the semi-darkness for the door. It wasn't completely dark because the light of a big moon shown from an overhead window. Harry finally located the door and turned the handle. To his surprise it was unlocked, and he tiptoed through it.  
  
Harry's immediate reaction was of stepping into a wind tunnel. His eyes immediately began to water, and his ears were filled with a rushing sound. He let his hands fall and they began to fly backwards in the powerful, gale- like, force eight winds. He squinted his eyes and looked around.  
  
He was on a bare, dry beach head; he must have been near water. And speaking of water, Harry hadn't had anything to eat or drink since lunch in Privet Drive.  
  
Glancing about to check if Orthopedis had woken (which he hadn't) he ran to the edge of the water, which was surprisingly close to him. He knelt down and tried a bit of it. It tasted like heaven to him; it was cold and slightly sweet, and quenched his thirst after a few mouthfuls. Harry looked up and realized that dawn was approaching; the sky was changing from deep black to the red-pink light of a breaking dawn.  
  
Harry returned quickly to the room he had left from, and just in time, as Orthopedis woke moments after his return. Harry quickly feigned sleep, and Orthopedis left for a few moments, returning with some food for himself. He shook Harry awake.  
  
"Up, Potter! You go to my master now! He speak to you today!"  
  
Harry rose again, but not with the easiness he had risen with last time; his legs weren't sure if they were made lead or jelly, they were alternating between the two of them, so Harry had difficulty walking out after Orthopedis. He noticed that the sky was still pinkish-red; it must still be dawn.  
  
Harry was led out onto the beach, still gusting with the ever-present wind, and followed Orthopedis across it to a large stone building with wooden doors towering at least thirty feet into the air. As they approached the building Harry's scar gave a searing pain, making his eyes momentarily water. The pain lessened slightly after a second, but still continued on.  
  
Orthopedis approached the doors and spread his hands wide and the doors opened smoothly and noiselessly. Harry thought he heard something murmur quietly, but straining his ears he caught nothing.  
  
As Harry and Orthopedis walked into the room, many lights and torches suddenly flickered on, lighting the room more efficiently than a battery of Muggle light fixtures.  
  
Harry looked around at the room. It was a huge room, bigger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with a vaulted ceiling (though no fake sky in it) and fireplaces lining it. Each fireplace, Harry noticed, had a small snake engraved on it, and there was a banner with Voldemort's sign, the Dark Mark, which hung from the ceiling on an enormous wall like some grisly tapestry.  
  
In the center of the room was a chair, and in the chair, sitting with cold, basilisk, red eyes that didn't ever blink, with long white fingers caressing a wand, was Lord Voldemort himself.  
  
Harry's scar seared with pain as Voldemort smiled his thin, lipless, mirthless smile. He beckoned with his hand.  
  
"Come, Harry Potter . . ." he whispered.  
  
Two Death Eaters grabbed Harry from behind, pinned his hands to his sides, and marched him over to Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort stared deep into Harry's eyes, and Harry tried to block out his mind and do whatever precious Occlumency he had ever learned from all his hated, if necessary, lessons with Snape, but it was harder than usual because his scar was now searing with pain so sharply it was making his eyes tear. Suddenly Voldemort dropped his gaze, but his face was full of quiet triumph.  
  
"So, Harry, my prophecy was destroyed . . . So, it was lost in the Ministry of Magic, Harry . . . Answer me . . . that is not the truth, is it, Harry . . . , you have heard it from somewhere. . . . Perhaps you wish to tell us, before I am forced to persuade you to— "  
  
"NEVER!" shouted Harry suddenly, breaking free of his captors. "You'll never hear it!"  
  
"Harry," said Voldemort calmly, quite unperturbed by Harry's outburst. "Harry, you do not want to know what I can do to people who block information from me . . . I can torture anything out of anyone, Harry. . . . You will be extremely easy. . . .  
  
"Let go of him, Macnair," said Voldemort, cutting into his own thoughts, it seemed.  
  
"Stand up, Mr. Potter. . . . I am going to show you a small percentage of my power. . . ."  
  
Harry stood up, wincing as his scar seared with pain, and he bit his lip to stop himself from screaming out loud, and braced himself for whatever Voldemort had in store for him. . . .  
  
Voldemort did not say anything. He merely raised his hands at Harry and pointed his long fingers at his forehead.  
  
"Aaaaauugh!" yelled Harry. Pain and agony like he had never experienced before had suddenly coursed through his whole body, but instead of going away, it built up higher and higher until he screamed. The pain was everywhere at once. His shoulders were being pressed back until they felt like they were touching . . . his hands and arms burned as if hot wires had been suddenly pressed against them. . . .  
  
"Aaaaaaauugh!" Harry screamed in pain and terror again, as wave after wave of pain hit him. His bones felt like they were breaking, while his head would surely split open. . . . It was worse than the Cruciatus Curse by far. In fact the Cruciatus Curse would be welcome compared to this. His vision was starting to go hazy and his eyes swam. His legs were twisting off. . . .  
  
Voldemort's face pulled on a look of deep concentration and Harry let out fresh shrieks and groans of pain as a new spell hit him. He rose a few inches off the ground as he felt his shoulders being stretched apart, while his legs felt as if they were going to crack off . . . he was choking for breath, but his lungs felt like they had been punctured. . . .  
  
His arms were rising on their own accord and flew back as a bolt of light hit his chest and started to burn away his shirt. Harry, gasping for breath and groaning feebly, felt the curse beginning to lift away. . . .  
  
Harry dropped to the ground in a heap and lay motionless at Voldemort's feet. Voldemort looked at him coolly through his emotionless red eyes.  
  
"What that enough, Harry?" he asked in a low purr, with as much venom as it was possible to inject into any voice.  
  
"Too much perhaps. . . . That was only a small sample of my powers. . . . I can show you them later on, though I doubt you would live through them . . . so . . . the Boy Who Lived will not live into next week. . . ."  
  
On the floor, with every bone and ligament burning with pain and his head feeling shattered, Harry could hardly hear what Voldemort was saying, but his last sentence had hit home . . . he had one week to live. . . . Harry blacked out.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry woke several hours later, back in the dark room where he was kept prisoner. It currently was gloomy and dark, lit only by the skylight above. The skylight, thought Harry, it's shining through red light. But, no . . . it couldn't be dawn still, could it? Then it dawned on him— the sky was red.  
  
He looked up again, and sure enough, the sky was shining a deep blood red that didn't completely penetrate the dirty skylight.  
  
Orthopedis was back in his chair, dozing again. He seemed to be a very sleepy man, and Harry wondered why he had been put as a guard. Unless Voldemort expected him to get out. . . .  
  
Harry stuck his hand into his back pocket and winced; his wrist seemed to be broken. He looked at it and touched it gingerly. Pain shot up his arm. It definitely was broken. But Harry almost laughed in relief; Voldemort's torture had only led to a simple broken wrist and bruises, if he didn't count the headache he still possessed.  
  
The wrist wouldn't be a problem, he thought, because Voldemort, with all of his wisdom and smartness, had forgotten to deprive Harry of his only weapon— his wand.  
  
Harry reached his other hand into his pocket and took out his wand. He tapped the other wrist lightly and circled the wand around it, the way he had once seen in his Defense Against the Dark Arts book that Lupin and Sirius had given him, and the pain went away as a blue light shone from the wand tip, healing his wrist.  
  
Suddenly Harry felt new again, but very angry. Voldemort has no right to do this, he told himself. Harry stood straight as he felt magic and power course through his body, quite like Phoenix tears, and he felt invigorated as he waved his wand at Orthopedis, making him crash off his chair.  
  
For a second Harry stared, but then his face broke into a half-smile; Orthopedis hadn't even woken up from the fall, he was still quite asleep.  
  
Knowing the Ministry wouldn't punish him for underage magic; Harry crept past him to the door, whispered, "Alohomora," and walked gently from the room.  
  
The wind blew fiercely at him, scaring him for a second, and making his eyes water, be he was back on the beach, and, taking care not to be seen, he walked softly out onto the sand in the general direction opposite of which he had taken earlier that morning; he wound up in the same place he had come to before, so he retraced and this time went the opposite way.  
  
If you could call it a 'way', thought Harry. Just out of eyesight was a chasm, and endless looking chasm that stretched for what seemed like miles, all the way out of view, and at least thirty feet wide at the narrowest parts. Harry made sure not to get too near to the edge, knowing that the wind could push him to a very certain death. . . . Harry shivered a little.  
  
Dark was falling, and Harry started back for the cells where he was kept, he hoped that Orthopedis was still sleeping. . . .  
  
He was. Harry tiptoed into the room and noticed for the first time that Orthopedis snored. Snored loudly. Very loudly. Harry probably would have had trouble hearing himself yell if wished to. He also noticed for the first time that there was a small window out of which what was clearly a small, square building that for some strange reason sent shudders up and down Harry's spine like a centipede with a hundred icy feet on its hundred icy legs stomping on his back.  
  
He shivered involuntarily. The building had a dark aura of evil to it . . . he could almost sense the darkness coming from it bellowing out like a dark cloud. He could just make the outline of a small door that for some reason had a cast-iron looking bar locking it, though it was twinkling innocently, so Harry thought that it probably had something extremely important in it. He also recognized the fact that Muggle weapons would be hard put to knock it down, though Harry wondered which Muggles would ever come here.  
  
A sudden movement at the corner of his eye alerted him, and Harry ran back as quickly and quietly as he could into the cell, where he hastily stuck his wand up his sleeve and sat on the ground. Orthopedis woke up as soon as Harry got down, and he did not seem to be puzzled or perturbed as to why he had been on the ground, just annoyed that he was on it.  
  
There was a sharp tap on the door, and Harry's scar burst into searing pain, making his eyes water from the stinging, and making him bite his lip to stop any signs of pain for Voldemort to see, for it surely was him.  
  
It was. Voldemort stepped into the room and flicked his fingers. Bright lights suddenly shone in the room, lighting it as superbly as the hall where he had tortured Harry.  
  
"That's right, Harry . . ." said Voldemort, staring at him, "it is light so you can be seen easily and cannot escape. . . .  
  
"Now, to business . . . I showed you, let us say, the finger of my power this morning, and I am showing you now my fist. . . . I warn you, Potter, this might be slightly — er — unpleasant. . . ."  
  
Harry's scar was bursting with pain, and he tried to take a deep breath, but found himself paralyzed with horror at what Voldemort had just said. The fist of his power . . . the first torture had only been a finger. . . .  
  
Before Voldemort could do anything, Harry pulled out his wand and yelled, Expelliarmus!"  
  
"Protego!" yelled Voldemort quickly, sending Harry's spell rebounding upon him. Harry ducked and Voldemort yelled, "Crucio!"  
  
But Harry dodged it, and heard the spell smash into the wall, sending up a shower of dust. Harry raised his wand and yelled, "Stupefy!"  
  
There was a blinding flash of white light, and a loud crack rent the air. Harry turned about in spite of himself just in time to catch a spell in the face, and he began to lose consciousness. As he fell, he dimly heard someone say, "Ach!" and felt something pick him up easily and carry him away. . . .  
  
* * * 


	3. CHAPTER THREE

Harry awoke in a chair in the middle of a bright room. He felt slightly nauseas and sickly; his head was throbbing worse than ever, and he reached up gingerly and felt his head and received a shock; there was an ostrich egg bump on his forehead. He reached for his wand and pointed it at his head, muttering, "Reducio," and felt the bump shrink back into his head.  
  
"Ah, feelin' better, are yah?" asked a deep, rich voice, though especially rich in some strange mix of Scottish and southern American accent, making him extremely hard for Harry to understand.  
  
"Yeh'd be Mr. Potter, naow, wouldn't yah? That's some bonny bump on ya' fore'ead."  
  
"Yes," answered Harry slowly, in case he was answering the wrong question. "I am,"  
  
"Ach, Ah thought ye' were." came the reply, as an old man with a face split in half by a large smile that never disappeared even when he talked walked into view. "Sorry for not introducin' mahsel', Ah'm the Laird Kirkun, Derek tae you, laddie."  
  
Derek certainly seems happy, thought Harry.  
  
"Aye, that I am, that I am. Vera' happy," said Derek.  
  
"Y-you're a Legilimens?" Harry asked, surprised.  
  
"Why, er, Ah suppose yeh could call me that. Mah kind can read yer mind like you can read a book, do yeh ken? Ah'm not human, maybe yeh've reco'nized. Nope, Ah'm a not-exactly-true 'n blue Scottish Elf. Birn here, but me mam was from the states. Pre'y rare, yeh may say, but Ah've got some family."  
  
"Er, Lord Kirkun — Derek, sorry, how did I — er — get here?"  
  
He didn't know much else to say, as Kirkun's English was hard to follow, especially at the rate he spoke.  
  
"Ah brought yeh mahsel', laddie. Though Ah thought that yeh knew already,"  
  
"How should I have known?" asked Harry, bewildered, "I was knocked out by something." He paused for a moment. "Wait a minute, you knocked me out! Why did you do that?"  
  
"Ach, well, 'twas an accident, y'see. Ah wiz on'y goin' tae bring yeh here, but Ah saw Voldemort and Ah tried killin' him. Spell hit you, though. Then Ah decided tae— "  
  
"You sent a spell to kill Voldemort and it hit me and I didn't die?" asked Harry, shocked. Why didn't he die? What defense did he have that Voldemort did not?  
  
"Well, yeah, tha's how it turned out, didn' it, laddie? Maybe you've got somethin' special. . . .  
  
"Well anyways, you're here righ' now, and I am goin' tae train yeh up to fight darkness. If I do say so mahsel'" he chuckled, "there ain't no one better to do that than me or mah kind. Ah can teach yeh for the start o' your term here, but mah cousin, Slasgov, from Germany might have to continue your lessons. Oh, his English, unlike mine, is very accented."  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows, then lowered them and nodded in mock agreement to his last line. Derek obviously did not realize just how horrible his English must be.  
  
Derek showed Harry his living quarters, which were as royal-looking as any self-respecting king would like to keep, and Harry fell asleep on his bed as soon as he hit the pillow. He slept for fifteen hours and dreamt about learning from Scottish and German monks how to pray in church, and then tried praying to Voldemort, who had suddenly appeared at his doorstep. . . .  
  
He woke up to yells of, "Up, laddie! UP!" reminding Harry forcefully of Aunt Petunia. Harry clambered sleepily out of his warm bed, and found himself staring up at his dresser, where seated was—  
  
"Hedwig!" Harry gasped. "How did you get here, girl?"  
  
She eyed him, and Derek came into his room, smiling and saying, "Your owl here flew over just this afternoon, while you were sleeping. Seemed to know you were here, beats me how she did, though.  
  
"And Yeh'd bette' get up sharp, now; we're startin' yer lessons in half an hour! Breakfast fast, and meet me at the entrance of the castle in twenty five minutes."  
  
He rang a bell that had magically appeared near Harry's bed, and a waiter appeared with some food and drink.  
  
"He'll show yeh where the entrance is, okay Bill?" he asked the waiter.  
  
"Yup," drawled Bill in a lazy voice.  
  
American for sure, Harry thought, a grin playing on his face. Probably also from the south.  
  
Harry ate a few pieces of French toast, drank some orange juice, and followed Bill out of his room.  
  
Harry wished he had about ten more eyes so he could see everything the castle had to offer. Passages and doors led off to just about everywhere, there was not ten feet of space without a passageway; windows leading out of rooms glowed with an unearthly light, and some of them had flashing lights and bangs, sort of like a few sticks of dynamite put together and blown would have roughly the same effect; and there were large walls with tapestries depicting battles and feasts and inscribed in languages that Harry did not understand.  
  
After what seemed like walking through a huge maze with thousands of branches, Harry and Bill arrived at what could only be the entrance. Entrance Hall was more appropriate, thought Harry, who was completely blown away by the entrance.  
  
Large golden statues of moving hippogriffs and lions flanked a grand, sweeping marble staircase, and growled as Harry and Bill passed them. The ceiling was at least sixty or seventy feet tall, and covered in intricate designs and patterns. It was made of dark wood and gold, but mostly gold.  
  
The walls were composed of something like marble, and had shapes that constantly twisted and swirled in different shapes, reminding Harry of the Ministry of Magic's lobby.  
  
Lord Kirkun was standing at the bottom of the steps with a staff and a cloak in his hands. He was wearing a dark blue tunic without sleeves; Harry could see his bare arms bulging with muscles, he was also sporting tight pants that made Harry think of a circus outfit, and Kirkun had moccasin- like shoes that most certainly made no noise when he would walk.  
  
"Come 'ere, Harry," said Derek, "let's take a walk while Ah tell yeh about what we're goin' tae be doin' t'gether."  
  
He beckoned with his free hand, and Harry walked down the beautiful staircase to him.  
  
They strolled out through huge oaken doors that wouldn't have looked out of place in Windsor Castle and descended some more marble steps (flanked by golden phoenixes) out onto the grounds.  
  
The grounds turned out to be the most beautiful garden Harry had ever seen. There was a small, hard-packed earth path winding merrily through dozens of varieties of trees and plants, and there were occasional statues of people whom Harry did not recognize, and the path ended in a courtyard.  
  
Derek led him through an arched doorway into it, and Harry was surprised to see an arena, something akin to a boxing ring in the center of the courtyard. The ring was about thirty feet long and about half as wide, and covered on all four sides by tautened ropes.  
  
Derek snapped his fingers and an entrance appeared in the center of the ropes, and he led Harry through it. Harry heard the ropes snap back shut as they passed through it.  
  
"Let me start mah introduction. Every man has their purpose in the world. Mebbe Dumbledore's purpose is to fight off Dark wizards and mebbe it ain't. We know what yer's is though, laddie. It's to rid this braw world of Voldemort and his idjits.  
  
"Mah job, though, is tae teach people how tae achieve their jobs. Ah've been alive for hundreds o' years, quite a bit more than I care to remember, anyway. What Ah am goin' tae do now is just teach you mah method. We kin make any changes yeh wish. We also got alot o' time; yer world moves very different from ours. Supposing yeh spend a couple o' years here, you'll only miss mebbe about a week in your world.  
  
"Now," he clapped his hands together, "yer lessons. What Ah am goin' tae do is teach you the basics first, and that is usin' your mind.  
  
"The mind is the most complex part of the body, and most powerful, too. It controls your body, but with the training Ah am goin' t'give yah, you'll learn to focus and take control of most things with your mind. Muggles have a gig like this where they put the vic'im into a kinda trance, call it hypnotizing, they do.  
  
"This is much more. More like the Imperius curse than anything, but it ain't dark magic, it's light. Usin' your mind also makes yer muscles much stronger, because you can bend them to your will, so to speak. It's really all focus; like if you take a piece o' glass and focus it, it'll make whatever the light falls on smoke. Many Muggles do that too. Now watch,"  
  
Kirkun suddenly jumped high in the air and flipped, and Harry watched him, almost in slow motion, raise his arm and point a finger into space. A jet of hot light burst from it, and lit up the courtyard like a flash of lightning on a dark night. It was so strong that Harry felt the heat it gave off. His immediate thought was that he would not want to have Derek as his enemy.  
  
Derek landed lightly on his feet and gave a short bow.  
  
"Y'see the mind controllin' my movement and helping me in wandless magic. Wandless magic is the most powerful magic there is when learned properly. Tha's because the mind has more power than the magical elements used in wand-making. The only problem is that most humans dae not have enough natural power in their body tae enable them tae harness and use tha' magic.  
  
"For instance, most wizards harness the mind with the wand by sayin' a spell. Let's say — er— Wingardium Leviosa. The wizard uses his wand and the object floats. But Ah can do it plainly, watch."  
  
He waved his hands in the swish and flick method Flitwick had taught Harry many years ago, and pulled a face of concentration, and suddenly some rocks from the ground lifted off it, as if suspended by invisible strings. Derek waved his hands and they dropped back to earth with a small thud, and he looked at Harry, a trace of a grin just visible on his lips.  
  
"When yeh can do that, then you're on the righ' track, Mr. Potter."  
  
And so they practiced. It was the hardest thing Harry had ever tried doing. He had never stretched his mind to its fullest before, and it was excruciatingly painful, but Harry actually enjoyed this pain in a sense— it meant his mind was growing, and Harry liked to grow.  
  
Parts of Derek's lessons were also physical, strengthening Harry's muscles and bones so much, that every night Harry would go to sleep with burning and pulled muscles, and every morning wake in the shape he had been practicing last, and would need one of Derek's massaging spells to enable him to change positions at all.  
  
But Harry still enjoyed it. Though physically pushed to the limit, Harry was having fun for the first time in over a year, excluding the D.A.., and when he strained and pushed his mind and body to the limit, there was no room left in his brain to think about Voldemort— what he was doing, where he was currently, or the brief torture he had given to Harry.  
  
He also had gotten much stronger. No longer did he look like the same broken, tortured teenager that had entered this castle; he was taller, at least five eleven or six feet high, and he had gained a lot of weight.  
  
Harry's body now had well defined muscles everywhere from his back to his lower legs— the outcome of several months' hard work and strain, and his eyes seemed to glow occasionally with sparkling, inhuman light.  
  
After several months of this work, Harry had gotten the hang of it, and was able to produce magic in many areas that he would not have dreamt of accomplishing before this year, areas that no student in Hogwarts (except maybe Voldemort and Dumbledore themselves) would hope to achieve.  
  
Derek had started to teach him also about dimensions and traveling between different ones.  
  
"Most dimensions," began Derek, "are simply wards into which you can travel into. They are purely magical, and most are so simple that they can take hold of somebody, even forcibly, with words.  
  
"The only hard part is speaking the words, and understanding the power under them. That can take years, even decades, for most Elves, though some have natural skill at it, and can do it in a matter of months. Any mind at all canna' do it, Mr. Potter, but with the right training, Ah think. . . Ah know," he amended, "that yeh'll do perfectly fine.  
  
"It happens to be very like Apparatin'. And Ah sense that yeh have sumthin' special about yeh in this field. O' course yeh don't believe it," said Derek amusedly, looking into Harry's eyes, "but Ah perceive it tae be true. It's really rare, even in the Elfish world, but 'tis plain true."  
  
He Disapparated suddenly, and appeared with a pop on Harry's other side.  
  
"See, 'tis just like that. Ah won't explain to yeh the exact theory of the skill; yeh'll be learnin' it at Hogwarts this year, but once you get the concept you'll be able to— ahem— have lots o' — er— fun. . . ."  
  
Harry and Derek did a run-through of everything they had learned together, in the form of an obstacle course.  
  
On the whole, Harry thought he did pretty well; he performed perfectly on the pressure parts of it, which were designed to test his knowledge of magic in an on-your-feet play-it-by-ear way, which Harry was good at even before he had come here.  
  
He did less well on the mind challenge, which was basically Occlumency and Legilimency in more advanced forms, and managed to block out Derek from his minds for a few moments, but Derek pushed through his weak defenses almost without trying, it seemed. Derek wasn't too pushed about that because, as he told Harry afterward, humans were much less apt at Legilimency than Elves, and Harry's current Occlumency was at least strong enough to block Voldemort for some time.  
  
He also did okay at the strength tests, which were probably the hardest after Occlumency; Derek had put Harry on a very inconvenient bread-and- water diet for the past three days, and Harry was not feeling up to his peak performance just then, but he still managed to pass okay.  
  
The strangest test though was the last one.  
  
"Come here, sonnie, Ah've taught yeh about usin' yer mind to think ahead of time for obvious and mebbe a few not so obvious things, have Ah not? Siddown and let's play a game of chess."  
  
Harry took a seat at the table Derek suddenly had Conjured and so they began.  
  
Harry remembered playing wizard chess with Ron, directing pieces like soldiers, but nothing (except perhaps McGonagall's giant chess set) would get him used to this chess.  
  
". . . Queen to G three,"  
  
Harry's queen moved forward one square onto the one occupied by Derek's knight.  
  
BANG!  
  
A blast of light and heat exploded from the queen's brilliant white sword as the blade bit deep into the live horse's chest, creating a miniature explosion.  
  
"Ach," said Derek, "but Ah had to let that happen— er— Rook to C six. Check,"  
  
Harry blocked it with his bishop, and looked hard at the board, trying to let his mind relax the way Derek had taught him, and focus entirely on the chess game he was playing.  
  
"Aha, laddie! Ah knew yeh would do that; 'tis unwise tae block with the rook because it leaves your king's flank open. So . . . Queen to E six, checkmate!" He dropped his voice and looked at Harry and said, "Ah'm sorry to beat yeh, Harry, yeh played a braw fine game, best Ah've played in years, Ah must say."  
  
He looked sharply into Harry's eyes and added, "Nay, laddie, Ah do not say the tae everyone who Ah play."  
  
* * * 


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

"Come on, boy, jump!" yelled Derek, who looked slightly annoyed for some reason.  
  
Harry had just started on using wandless magic to enhance his physical strength.  
  
He took a run, bent his knees slightly, and jumped off the ground, waving his hand slightly as he flew, to lengthen the distance with magic, and concentrating on his breathing and his heart rate the way Derek had showed him to reduce strain.  
  
Harry landed lightly fifteen feet away on his feet, but Derek hardly looked impressed. In fact, Derek wasn't looking his usual cheerful self at all; he was wearing a somber expression, and his eyes lacked their usual light and cheer.  
  
"What's wrong, Derek?" asked Harry, coming closer.  
  
Another thing Derek had taught Harry was to control his anger and rage, and work on his sympathy towards others. He had also taught Harry to utilize his anger for good purposes, and that calm fighting was always better than frenzied, no matter what. He had showed him that having feelings for people wasn't a bad thing.  
  
"What's wrong?" Harry asked again softly.  
  
"Today's yeh're last lesson, but Ah-Ah really don't wan't yeh tae go, yeh've been mah best student, and I really like yah, Harry. . . ."  
  
He suddenly approached Harry and embraced him. Harry felt tears growing in the corners of his eyes as he hugged his mentor back for what seemed like an endless amount of time, until Derek said, "Yeh've learned all Ah have tae teach, and Ah hope that yeh will on'y use mah learnings for good and not evil.  
  
"And one thing before you go back to yeh're own world, don't ever, ever tell anybody about what we've learned the last year and a half. It's a secret, but if you tell anyone, even Dumbledore, than there is a chance that Voldemort will learn it, he still has a connection with you, and tha's the last thing we want. You're the world's secret weapon, and we can't lose yeh, Harry.  
  
"Yer world is missin' yeh, Harry, and Ah'll send yeh back now. Yeh'll wake up in the Order of the Phoenix' headquarters."  
  
Derek waved his hands, yelled, "G'bye, Harry!" and vanished from sight as Harry's world turned black and he fell unconscious. . . .  
  
* * *  
  
"MUM, MUM, HE'S HERE! HARRY'S HERE!"  
  
Harry woke up slowly to the loud voice that was shouting happily. He sat up on his bed and looked around. Where was he? Then it sunk into him: He had been sent back to the Order's headquarters, so he must be in Grimmuald Place.  
  
He wondered who had shouted, but before long a ginger head appeared in the doorway . . . a ginger head that only could belong to his best friend, Ron Weasley.  
  
"Harry!" Ron cried running forward. "What happened to you? Where've you been the past week? We've been so worried! Mum and the girls were going spare! Even Fred and George were worried when the popped by a couple days— "  
  
"HARRY!" a voice suddenly shrieked. "Harry! You're back! Where were you?" It was Hermione, and she had a strange glow in her eyes as though about to cry and laugh at the same time.  
  
"Harry, what happened? We've been going mad! Gone for a week, oh, and Dumbledore came and said that the house was empty, and that you've disappeared, and we've been so worried about you, and— "  
  
Ron cut her back off.  
  
"You've grown a lot, Harry, what happened all of a sudden? And— " he felt Harry's arm and looked at his undershirt that was sticking to him in sweat and outlining his body neatly. "—what happened that you're so muscly all of a sudden?"  
  
"Well I— "  
  
Harry broke off uncomfortably, just remembering what Derek had told him before he had left, 'don't ever, ever, tell anybody about what we've learned the last year and a half.'  
  
"Yes?" asked Hermione and Ron in one breath.  
  
"I-I, nothing happened — nothing at all," he finished rather lamely.  
  
"Er — right," said Ron in a voice that suggested completely that he knew that something had happened, and Hermione was looking at him with her eyes squinted slightly, as though trying to read his mind. Harry mentally took his head in his hands and buried them between his knees; how long would it have to stay like this? But he already knew the answer.  
  
* * *  
  
Ginny had popped into the room to see what was happening, and she let out a huge sigh when she saw Harry sitting there safely. Harry smiled and shook his head.  
  
"Hi, Ginny,"  
  
"Harry, where've you been? What happened to you?"  
  
"Well, my uncle and Dudley were going to a play and they invited me along, and I really wanted to go, I don't know why, and then . . ."  
  
He relayed the whole story to them, about how somebody had hit him over the head and how he had woken up on the beach. The only part he didn't tell them (mainly because he didn't want Ginny to hear it) was the part where Lord Voldemort had tortured him. Of course he left out the part with his training and instead used it to create a good cover story for how he had gotten out of that world.  
  
"How long have I been gone?" Harry asked with a slight frown.  
  
"A week and a bit," answered Ron, "Mum's doing her nut on you, when they told her the news she fainted."  
  
CRACK!  
  
Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, just Apparated into Harry's bedroom.  
  
"Yeah," said Fred conversationally, "the whole floor shook, d'you remember?"  
  
Yeah, I — "  
  
But an explosion of noise came from behind him, and Ron suddenly ducked behind the bed so they wouldn't see him laughing,  
  
"WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, FRED WEASLEY! Oh, Harry, you're here, that's wonderful! HOW DARE YOU TALK LIKE THAT ABOUT YOUR MOTHER? ONE MORE TIME, FRED WEASLEY, AND I'LL MAKE YOU — "  
  
But her voice was suddenly drowned out by even louder shrieks from a portrait down the stairway.  
  
"FILTHY MUDBLOODS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS! VILE CREATURES OF DIRT! DIRTY BLOOD TRAITIORS — !  
  
"Can't we do something about that portrait, Mrs. Weasley?" asked Harry tiredly.  
  
"We've been trying to for the past few weeks, but we've hadn't had any luck." She answered, having to yell slightly even though Fred and George had left quickly and slammed the door behind them.  
  
"Maybe you could just Vanish the whole wall," said Hermione.  
  
"We've thought of that, but Mrs. Black seems to have put a spell on it resisting all other spells that we've tried."  
  
"Why don't we just burn it off, or something?" asked Ron.  
  
"You know what," said Mr. Weasley, who had just entered the room, carrying some toast on a tray, "that's a good idea. Why don't we try that, Molly?"  
  
They tiptoed into the hallway and Mrs. Weasley pulled out her wand and pointed it at Mrs. Black's portrait. "Lacarnum inflam— "  
  
A small and ugly body suddenly dove in front of her. "Kreacher must not let them destroy my mistress!"  
  
Kreacher knocked Mrs. Weasley's wand out of her hand and picked it up. Suddenly Harry let out a yell of rage,  
  
"You! You killed Sirius! I'll, I'll—" All Harry's training momentarily disappeared. He reached for his wand and jabbed it violently at Kreacher. There was a bang like a small bomb and Kreacher was blasted against the wall. Harry stepped over to his limp body and placed a foot on Kreacher's scrawny neck. Pathetic thing . . . thought Harry.  
  
He raised his wand. All the people around him tensed, weaklings, they just don't want to see me kill him! Harry found himself thinking angrily.  
  
Harry's eyes were bloodshot and everything was in a red mist of rage. White hot anger like he had never known before licked his insides. He brought down his wand—  
  
"No Harry, you can't!" screamed Hermione from far away. Harry looked up. The rage that had just flared up in him had been quenched when Hermione shouted his name. Harry got up and left the hall without another word. As he shut the door he heard a crackling of fire and screeches from Mrs. Black's portrait.  
  
Harry went into the kitchen breathing hard like he had just run a marathon. He looked around; here was where Kreature had told him Sirius was not in Grimmuald Place. . . . The thought of Kreature still alive and moving while Sirius was gone brought back his anger. . . Harry suddenly felt angry . . . no . . . worse than that. He pulled out his wand and moved to open the door to the hallway.  
  
His training suddenly overtook him, and with an immense, if brief, inner battle, Harry moved away his hand and sheathed his wand inside his belt.  
  
* * *  
  
The next morning Harry woke up very late. Ron was already gone, and Harry was alone in the room. Finneas Nigellus's portrait on the wall was empty but making small scuffling sounds like he was snoring.  
  
Ron's voice sounded from the stairs, "Harry, come on downstairs! We're having a late breakfast, so if you come now you might catch the end."  
  
Harry quickly threw on jeans and a T-shirt and walked down the stairs. Pausing to check that Kreacher was not there — so as not to arouse his anger — he walked into the hallway and unconsciously shifted into a quiet walk that Derek had taught him, but realized that it was unnecessary; all around the curtains of Mrs. Black's portrait was black and sooty, and Mrs. Black herself had been burned out.  
  
"Hey, Harry," said Ron as he entered the kitchen, "Mum said we're going to Diagon Alley to get our stuff, and then we're going to see Fred and George after breakfast, so as soon as you finish eating we can go!"  
  
Harry nodded briefly and turned his attention to his breakfast. After over a year of special dieting, real food had an almost unreal, godly taste to it.  
  
"Calm down, Harry," said Ron, "it's like you haven't eaten anything for a year,"  
  
"I'm done," Harry announced ten minutes later.  
  
"Oh good," said Mrs. Weasley, who had just entered the kitchen, "We must get going, we have to get you r— " she pointed to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "— books from a different shop, Flourish and Blotts don't stock the books you'll need for your new classes, but Ginny needs her books from Flourish and Blotts, and they're across the alley from each other. Oh and we have to go to Gringotts to make a deposit! We also have to visit Fred and George, then I have a meeting with the Order here, and you four must be out of the house while it goes on."  
  
Standing in the hall by dirty, snake sided fireplaces with large pots of Floo powder, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all took turns taking a handful of the magical grains, throwing them into the fire, and yelling, "Diagon Alley".  
  
Harry tumbled out in a fireplace in Flourish and Blotts, followed closely by Ron and Ginny. Hermione was already dusting herself off.  
  
When the last person, Mrs. Weasley, clambered out, she and Ginny went off to look in the sections she would need, so Hermione went to the Apothecary to get Potions ingredients while Ron went to Quality Quidditch Supplies.  
  
Harry went outside and had a look around; he was finally back where he belonged at long last. He looked around for several minutes, taking in all the sights and smells of the Alley, when Ron came running and calling his name.  
  
"Harry, you've got to come and have a look at this!" he panted. "Come on!"  
  
Hermione was just leaving, and they caught up with her, and Ron dragged them into Quality Quidditch Supplies.  
  
"Look at this!"  
  
Harry came up to a group of wizards crowding around a sign. Ron, being the tallest, read it for them:  
  
LIGHTNINGBOLT  
The new state-of-the-art broomstick, the Lightningbolt, sports a fine-  
lined, oak handle, treated with a diamond polish for hardness and  
shape. Each birch twig in the broomtail has been honed to perfection,  
giving the Lightningbolt unprecedented balance, precision, and a  
record winning speed of two hundred and twenty miles an hour in eight  
seconds of acceleration.  
  
They stood there for a few minutes just gazing at the broom. Harry had never seen a more sleek and beautiful broom. The perfectly straight handle was a deep, shining brown with gold designs embossed on it. Stamped on its handle was a gold serial number. The twigs at the end of it were so neatly aligned that it looked like one shining piece of birch wood. The Lightningbolt was floating in a glass display case, which Harry was sure had an Unbreakable Charm on it.  
  
"Wow," said Harry. Ron nodded his head fervently, gazing at the broom as in a dream.  
  
"Really you two," broke in Hermione sniffily, "are you going to sit there all day or go and buy our books, because I can see Ginny and your mum coming from Flourish and Blotts."  
  
"Wha — oh-oh, yeah, we're coming. . . ." said Ron vaguely.  
  
"Hmph!" said Hermione.  
  
They met Mrs. Weasley at the entrance of Quality Quidditch Supplies and proceeded straight to the other bookshop, called the Borders. It was situated on the border between the Muggle world and Diagon Alley, and its back entrance was another way to get into the Muggle world.  
  
They left the shop after half an hour, which Harry considered a lot of time, given they only had to buy two or three new books each.  
  
"Come on!" said Ron as they left. "Let's go see Fred and George in their shop. It's down this end anyway!"  
  
Harry saw where Ron had pointed. A large sign hung over a tall shop saying WEASLEYS' WIZARDING WHEEZES. There was a large crowd pushing to get in. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny made their way through the crowd, but Mrs. Weasley hung outside, talking to someone under a veil.  
  
After a few minutes Harry managed to enter the shop. It was huge. At the back wall a small stage had been set up. Fred and George waved at them jovially from it.  
  
Fred winked, "Hey Harry! Come up here with us!" Harry began walking to the stage. It was taking a lot of time; Harry had been walking for a minute and had only gone a couple of yards. He looked up at Fred and George, who smiled and winked again. "Hurry up, Harry! What's taking so long?"  
  
Harry suddenly noticed something: when he wasn't walking, he was drifting backwards! He began walking, making no headway, then it clicked. The floor was moving backwards! He broke into a run, but the floor sped up with him. Fred winked again.  
  
"Well," Harry panted, "stop it and I'll get up there!"  
  
"Oh, fine," said George.  
  
Suddenly Harry lurched forward! The floor was now zooming toward the stage! Harry was going to crash! He braced himself. Suddenly Harry's feet stuck to the floor and it stopped moving. His legs buckled from the sudden stop, and his head missed smashing into the stage by three inches. Fred was now laughing so hard that he was slumped on the floor, while George was holding his sides and shaking with mirth. Harry's broke into a smile in spite of himself. He clambered onto the stage.  
  
"Hello," said George, "Took a long time to get here," said Fred, "Did you get lost, or something?"  
  
"Watch this, Harry," said George. He pulled out a large silver microphone. "Attention!" he yelled, "All of you here have come just in time to see our newest invention. . . Morphjuice! Simply take a drink and concentrate on which animal you would like to become, and bam! Up to three hours of it! Magical animals included!"  
  
Harry looked at Hermione, who said to Fred and George, "Isn't that very dangerous?"  
  
"Of course not." said Fred, leaving it at that.  
  
"You know something," said George, steering the subject out of these dangerous waters, "one good thing about this place is the security. You can't Apparate in here without triggering about ten alarms, the only way in is through the front doors. It helps a lot against break-ins. And the fireplaces over there," George pointed to a row of fireplaces, "have invisible walls in the stacks, so if you floo into them you'd get a real surprise. . . ."  
  
Ron clambered onto the stage.  
  
"Hi Harry, look at this," he held up a withered looking plant, "we're— "  
  
"— Not sure what it does, exactly. But can you come and help us figure it out." said Fred unexpectedly.  
  
"How did you — what — that's exactly what I was gonna say — how did you know!?" Ron nearly shouted.  
  
"Don't worry, little bro," said Fred, "I've only learned how to read minds . . . just kidding of course, but we invented a neat little thing to read minds with. This thing is an Occlumens — look. . . ."  
  
He held up a small round object that was shimmering and changing color constantly. "This little thing can read your thoughts and project them into the user's mind. We aren't selling any of course . . . bit dangerous. . . ."  
  
"We've been developing them since our second year, you know, but we managed to finish it up last year. That's how we always were able to complete a sentence together without mistakes and stuff.  
  
"Oh, and by the way, that plant was just a test item that accidentally got put on a shelf. We were testing poisons on it for our Snackboxes, so we could poison the kids — I mean — nothing,"  
  
But George was smiling slightly, so Harry shook his head in amazement and went with Ron went to look around the sweets section of the store. He found it quickly; it was the biggest part and crowded more than the rest of the store was.  
  
Floating over the area was a poster of a boy with a bag of Nosebleed Nougat and a bloody nose that kept bleeding and stopping as he ate the other end of the chew.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked over to the section. It was loaded with stuff like Weasleys' Bouncing Bazooka, great purple wads of gum that bounced around in your mouth as they were chewed, big sucking candies that changed their taste every thirty seconds, and Weasley's Wonderful Wish, which allowed the eater to wish for any type of food and make it appear, and more things like that.  
  
Fred and George let them buy all their stuff half off, ("Family discount for the three of you," George had said) but the three of them left with money bags considerably lighter than those that they had entered with.  
  
* * * 


	5. CHAPTER FIVE

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the shop a small person dressed in baggy clothing and carrying a scent of strong tobacco ran into them, literally. As Harry got up, massaging his ribs, the small figure spoke.  
  
"Mr. Potter, you are needed at Gringotts bank, now!"  
  
The man had a high-pitched, whining voice that made the back of Harry's neck prickle a bit; the voice reminded him uncannily of his ex-professor, Dolores Umbridge, who had been attacked at the end of last term by centaurs, though Harry felt no sympathy to her; she had tyrannized Hogwarts until she tried attacking Harry, was delayed by a few well-placed lines from Hermione, and had been led into the Forbidden Forest and attacked.  
  
"Come on!" said the small man again in his high-pitched, girlish voice.  
  
He led them out into the sunlight and they followed him all the way down to the other side of Diagon Alley, where the tall, lopsided, white building of Gringotts Bank came into view. The short man led them past the double doors of Gringotts, which was flanked by two goblins in bright red uniforms, and into the main hall, where there were tables and tables with seated goblins writing in thick books or talking to customers.  
  
There were also many doors emblazoned with the Gringotts coat of arms, a galleon over a pair of shaking hands, and the man led them through one the very first ones, which looked much older than the later ones, the stone already darkening, and the marble had several cracks in it already.  
  
Harry had been to Gringotts before and he knew that through the doors led a cart that would take them wherever they were going to, so when the door opened up into a large cavern, Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise and the man must have seen, because he said, "We're now in the biggest vault room in the world. The oldest and richest families have their family keeps in here.  
  
"Over here are the oldest families, like the Malfoys, though since Mr. Malfoy has been imprisoned for being a Death Eater, there is some word circulating that the vault will be removed.  
  
"Here are a few more old ones. This one here is actually Dumbledore's private one, the richest collection of money and treasures valued at more than I can tell you three, but it's nearly impossible to steal from it; Dumbledore himself put charms on that door in addition to the Gringotts charms and guards.  
  
"And . . . aah, here we are — the vault of the Black family. I believe your godfather left a will for you, but since you are not allowed legally into his vault I will get it for you."  
  
The short man took out an unusually long and thin key and tapped the wall that they were standing next to three times in different spots and suddenly with a long claxon-like sound an iron door appeared. The man took the key and inserted into the keyhole and pushed. Harry got a glimpse of what looked like a small mountain of gold, with bright jewels sparkling every few feet, before the man stepped into the vault and closed the door halfway.  
  
He returned a few minutes later with a chink of gold that had been smoothed almost paper-thin, and Harry spotted some writing on it. The short man cleared his throat officiously and read,  
  
This is the final will of Sirius Maximillian Black in accordance with the Black family and the Ministry of Magic Law Enforcement Squad, written twelve August, 1980 with Sirius Black and Lawyer Thwaites Ossocrates.  
  
In event that the war carries on longer, and I, Sirius M. Black is killed or die, I leave all my possessions with my friend James Potter and his wife, Lilly of Godric's Hollow Manor. This includes all the money in this vault, my personal vault, number seven two four, which currently adds up to the total sum of 198,465,198 Galleons and some odd Sickles, not including interest rates from the bank of 8.3 percent a year.  
  
Also included in this document is the Black Estate at number twelve Grimmuald Place, which will belong to me after the first of January, 1982. This house includes all the grounds around it, and also will turn over with the house-elf, Kreacher, and the portraits, furniture, and other accessories that are found within it.  
  
"It appears that he included a post-script just three months ago," said the man reading it, and clearing his throat again, he sheafed through a few more scrolls of parchment. "Read it yourself,"  
  
Harry,  
  
Nothing made me happier after your parents' death than seeing you come here to me, alive and well. It was almost like having my best friend back again when I set sight on you for the first time. You have matured more than even you know it, and, if I might say, you are so like James that when you left me after Christmas I was heartbroken. But enough of this — I want to change my original will to this.  
  
I know your best friends well now, after having them the whole summer, and I also know that they fancy each other (even if they don't know it). I am leaving them 500,000 Galleons to split. I own a large cottage near, actually, the Burrow, and I am giving it to them. I also know, however, how James felt about his friends, Harry, and I know that you feel the same about them — that they deserve more than that from their own friends, and therefore I am also going to give them part of your portion if you agree to it.  
  
Your portion is this: The rest of my money, and number twelve Grimmuald Place, with all its accessories mentioned in the original context, and I hope you will give it to Kreacher nicely when I am gone, but don't mention this to Hermione, of course. She and Ron will have the top floor, which includes two bedrooms and another master bedroom, a bathroom, and several fireplaces. The whole floor is fully furnished, of course.  
  
Of course, Harry, like James, if you had all this now you would explode from all the possibilities now opened to you, so — I'm not giving it to you until you are seventeen, but Dumbledore wishes you to read it 'a bit' after I die, no matter what age you are. The same goes for Ron and Hermione.  
  
Also, your parents left a will for you, but they specifically instructed me when you were born to show it to you at your seventeenth birthday. If you are reading this it means I am no longer here to enforce this, but please, Harry, obey their wish. The bank account you have, by the way, is not even a percent of your family's true fortune.  
  
I also want to give a present to Ron's brothers, Fred and George, for their joke shop, and I therefore am leaving them 250,000 Galleons, which should be enough, I reckon. I am not the best in maths, but I would say that leaves you with now about two hundred million odd Galleons, give or take a couple hundred thousand.  
  
Sirius  
  
PS. Harry, you'll be a multimillionaire, and I have a last wish. No, not a wish. You're going to get a good job and keep at it — I'm not going to be responsible for ruining James Potter's son and turning him into some spoiled brat. Keep it in mind.  
  
As Harry finished reading, he felt a sudden ache in his heart, as though wishing that he had not read this, and Sirius was here now with him. As he felt his eyes grow watery, his new training suddenly kicked in and he mastered himself not to cry. Instead, he beckoned with his head at Ron and Hermione, and they followed him out of earshot of the short man.  
  
"I just want to say to you both that Sirius left money for you two, too. He left for you also the top floor of Grimmuald Place, and the rest for me — but I don't want it. I-I . . . I just can't take it. . . ."  
  
"You have to, Harry," said Hermione immediately, pity literally streaming from her brown eyes. "You must listen to Sirius; he wouldn't want you not to listen to him. . . ."  
  
Harry nodded several times and tried to smile; a crooked twist in his jaw was all that came out, and Hermione's eyes looked as if on the verge of crying.  
  
* * * 


	6. CHAPTER SIX

Harry's favorite day came just a week after he arrived. August the seventh, Fudge's hearing. The hearing was to take place at four o'clock in the stadium. This time, though, they did not take a Portkey, but used Floo powder to go to "The Quidditch stadium!"  
  
Harry fell out of a fireplace roughly, slightly bruising his knee. Ron and Hermione fell out next to him. As Harry stood up he took a look around. They were in a gold room, probably in the stadium itself, which was literally covered in fireplaces. Wizards and witches were emerging from them all around him with soft whooshes as they popped out of the fireplaces and took their places in a long line.  
  
As Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their places in it, Hermione asked, "Where are Fred and George and the rest apparating to?"  
  
Harry pointed to a sign that said Apparation point this way with an arrow pointing to a different door.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione made there way down the line into the stadium itself. They met Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie at the ticket booth.  
  
"Okay," said Mr. Weasley, "we have seats near the, er," he consulted the tickets, for a second, "near the middle. Let's get going then, all right? Oh, and hold onto your tickets, I heard that they'll be checking throughout the trial for those kind of things."  
  
He handed out the tickets. Harry looked at his. It said 'Row: 47B Seat: 591'.  
  
Half an hour later saw them all sitting comfortably on leather backed seats in the stadium chatting unconcernedly. Harry looked out to the stadium. It did not at all look like a Quidditch stadium. For one thing, the goal posts had been taken down, and the ground was covered in polished wood, and last of all, there were many small tables and desks set in rings throughout the pitch.  
  
Suddenly a loud voice boomed out, "Silence in the audience! The hearing of Cornelius Oswald Fudge and office shall commence."  
  
A hush filled the stadium and Harry noticed that people were filing into lines on the ground. Harry recognized a few of the people who were moving slowly onto chained chairs: Umbridge, the wizard with the black mustache from Harry's own hearing, and Fudge himself. There were about five or six others whom Harry did not recognize.  
  
The voice boomed out again. "The charges for the accused are as follows. One, that they ignored rumors of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, leading to the threat of torture and death due to lack of knowledge of the Wizarding community. Two, that they paid bribes to all major newspapers and magazines to print lies and . . ."  
  
The list trailed on and on. Harry noticed that Fudge looked strained and tense, a thing that Harry was very happy about. Umbridge was just staring at the sky with her pale eyes and her flabby face sagging horribly. She started as the voice said, ". . . Dolores Jane Umbridge, accused of attempting to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry Potter, and sending dementors illegally to his residence in Surrey. This second crime is made worse by the facts that Potter had a hearing on the issue and Umbridge indirectly denied having sent them. Furthermore, she placed many Decrees at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and many of them were signed by a master forger, who imitated Minister Cornelius Fudge's signature.  
  
"Jack Ledgeman, the Secretary of the Interior to Cornelius Fudge, accused of letting off known Death Eaters in Azkaban after the return of He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named. Most of the Death Eaters have already been apprehended and turned in again, though two are loose, and one has been killed by a team of Aurors.  
  
"Sir Patrick . . ."  
  
Harry sank in a stupor again, only coming to when the voice said, ". . . the verdicts for the accused shall be given after the next trial, which shall be held next Thursday afternoon at four thirty right here. Thank you for participating in this hearing."  
  
The crowd rang with applause and began exiting the stadium.  
  
At dinner that night, everyone was talking about different things. Hermione was once again talking to Lupin about S.P.E.W. but Lupin didn't seem to be listening at all, though Hermione didn't notice.  
  
". . . really, you should understand it all perfectly, I mean, it's the same with werewolves and other types of creatures . . ."  
  
"Hmmm, maybe," said Lupin absently.  
  
Ron was talking to Fred and George, who had come over for dinner, about how horrible it was being a prefect, while Hermione threw furious glances at him when she wasn't talking.  
  
Mr. Weasley was talking to Moody and Mrs. Weasley about the hearing, ". . . Fudge wasn't looking too good this morning; it looks like we've finally got to him — "  
  
"Shhh," whispered Mrs. Weasley, looking around furtively. Mr. Weasley continued but his voice was so low that Harry only caught a few words, ". . . a bottle, yes . . ." and Mad-Eye's growl, ". . . pressure . . . Lucius Malfoy . . ."  
  
Wishing that he had Extendable Ears, Harry looked back at his plate. He didn't know what to do . . . he wished that Sirius could have been here, enjoying a meal and a conversation with Harry. . . .  
  
He was about to get some more food when the kitchen door opened and a familiar figure bespectacled with horn-rimmed glasses walked into the room. Everybody froze.  
  
Percy edged into the room and closed the door behind him. He cleared his throat nervously. Ron and Hermione shot him disgusted looks, while Fred, George, and Ginny stopped talking and determinedly stared in the opposite direction. Harry stared had him, but Percy wouldn't meet his gaze. Mrs. Weasley burst into tears.  
  
Percy cleared his throat again.  
  
"What do you want, you idiot?" said Fred, turning around, "speak up or get out! We don't need or want you here!" He looked pointedly at Harry.  
  
"Okay . . ." said Percy, clearly taken aback, "I just, er, want you to know that I'm very sorry about what I said the past year and I hope you forgive me. . . ."  
  
"WHAT!" shouted Harry, "why on earth should we do that? What about that letter you wrote to Ron about me! Why should I just forget that?"  
  
"What letter?" asked Mrs. Weasley quickly.  
  
"Percy sent me a stupid letter," snarled Ron, "that talked about how stupid you were and how Harry was insane and I should tell tales to that toad, Umbridge. He wanted me to join stupid Fudge and the Ministry and forget about my family and friends, like him!"  
  
Mrs. Weasley was so shocked she stopped crying. "You sent a letter to my Ron telling him to quit with us, you-you-no, how could you?"  
  
Percy spoke again, "I already said, I'm sorry . . . I didn't realize You- Know-Who was back . . . I'm sorry,"  
  
Fred looked up at him, with something close to hatred in his eyes. "Well, we don't forgive you, so clear out — "  
  
"Of course we do!" said Mrs. Weasley. She looked around the table with sharp eyes as if to say, or else.  
  
That night Harry had a dream of Percy entering the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Harry walked to the Head Table where Mrs. Weasley was sitting. He decided to come closer and suddenly the room became smaller and darker. Harry looked back at Mrs. Weasley, who was talking to herself in a small chair . . . but . . . no, that wasn't Mrs. Weasley at all, it was an old man talking to himself. Harry looked closer and realized that the man was holding something in his hands. Harry moved over to see what it was, but it was going far away, he was flying back, farther and farther back . . . Harry woke up.  
  
* * * 


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN

Tempers were running high in number twelve Grimmuald Place on September the first. Mrs. Weasley running about telling them to get ready, and that they had to leave soon because they were going yet again to King's Cross Station with a guard.  
  
People inside were running around half dressed, colliding on the stairs with bits of toast in their hands, and Fred and George hadn't helped by accidentally setting off a dozen fireworks on the second floor landing.  
  
". . . don't know what they're up to at all, those two!" Harry heard Mrs. Weasley muttering frantically.  
  
They finally got everything together, Fred and George managed to Vanish the fireworks, and they all headed out into the dull grey morning.  
  
Two cars drove up to meet them. One was full of people who could only be Aurors; Harry could recognize two of them, Kingsley Shacklebolt, a tall black Auror with a deep, slow voice, and the other one, Williamson, with a long ponytail and his usual red robes. They must be the guards, thought Harry.  
  
As Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys clambered into the magically enlarged car, Harry caught a glimpse of a driver who seemed familiar.  
  
"Wotcher, Harry!"  
  
It was Tonks; a new Auror who could change her appearance at will being born a Metamorphmagus, and right now her hair was long and black and fell down past her waist, from what Harry could tell.  
  
Tonks ushered them into the car, which was only half full; its maximum seating capabilities must have reached at least twenty.  
  
As they started off, Harry saw the other car pull back slightly so that the Aurors could see them, and both cars proceeded slowly  
  
The journey to King's Cross was uneventful though, and they reached the station fifteen minutes before eleven.  
  
At ten to eleven they arrived at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Mrs. Weasley divided them into several groups and they walked casually through the barrier smoothly, chatting unconcernedly.  
  
As the platform materialized in front of Harry, he saw several people wave at him happily and felt something brush past him. It was Cho.  
  
She looked at him a second, but he turned around pointedly and she moved on. Harry noticed that her eyes were full of tears, but the sight did not make him unhappy in the least. He felt rather elated. It's her problem anyways, not mine, he thought.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione got onto the train and sat down in a compartment near the back. After a few minutes Neville and Ginny joined them and Ron and Hermione, being prefects, left to patrol the train.  
  
Harry wondered what Ron would do if Malfoy would come into Harry's compartment and fight with him. Maybe he would ignore it like Lupin had done in Snape's Pensieve. Hermione, though, would probably stop him from cursing Malfoy . . . if Malfoy would come in, Harry would make sure Hermione did nothing.  
  
Sure enough, as the train got underway, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle entered the compartment. Malfoy gave a small laugh.  
  
"Well, just Potter, and Longbottom," he drawled.  
  
"You've forgotten me, Bogey-boy," said Ginny from the corner.  
  
She pulled out her wand and Malfoy backed against the wall. Malfoy's hands dropped to his sides.  
  
"I give in," he said quietly.  
  
"Good!" said Ginny.  
  
Suddenly Malfoy plunged his hand into his pocket, grabbed his wand and yelled, "Furnunculus!" A jet of light shot out and hit Ginny in the face. Harry got up quickly. He reached for his wand, which was on the seat next to him, but before he got it there was a loud bang and Malfoy was lying on the floor. He got up and took a terrified look at Harry and fled with Crabbe and Goyle at his heels.  
  
Just then Hermione's face appeared in the glass.  
  
"What did you just do to him?" she asked shrilly, "How-what-I mean-that was wandless magic! It's really rare! Why didn't you tell us before that you could do it?"  
  
Harry tried looking stunned, though he really was thanking Derek in his heart.  
  
"How did you do it, Harry?" Hermione asked again.  
  
Harry stared at his hands.  
  
"I-I don't know, Hermione," he said quickly, trying to sound innocent and curious.  
  
* * * 


	8. CHAPTER EIGHT

When they reached Hogwarts, a storm was heavily under way. Harry walked out of the train and started up to the carriages which the thestrals pulled. He could hear Hagrid yelling, "See you at the castle if the boats make it across!"  
  
Harry looked at the storm and knew that Hagrid wasn't making a joke. . . .  
  
He got into a carriage with Ron and Hermione. They filled Ron on what had happened on the train. He was very shocked, though more in awe than anything else.  
  
"Wandless magic, Harry? Y'sure? That's-that's-wow! Dad told me a bit about it once . . . said it was really rare, and only about fifteen people could do it this whole century! 'course that doesn't count Apparating and stuff, but it's a really big gift!"  
  
The carriages pulled them slowly up the road and past the winged boars, coming to a rest at the front doors of Hogwarts.  
  
Outside it was still storming very hard, and the three of them got soaked trying to get inside.  
  
When they finally got in, Professor McGonagall motioned to him and Ron to come to her office.  
  
"As you both know," she started, "you will be receiving advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts classes this year. They will be taking place on the third floor every Monday, and your regular Defense Against the Dark Arts will be cancelled. This goes for all of you who received an O on your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. and wish to receive Auror training. Now, go to the feast, and if I may say, do not boast it; there are only a few who got in."  
  
As Harry and Ron entered the Great Hall, they saw Flitwick removing the Sorting Hat, a thousand-year-old hat that quartered all the newcomers to Hogwarts every year in a process called Sorting, which involved putting the hat on and having it look inside your head until it decided where to put you. Harry remembered the fright it was when he was sorted.  
  
He and Ron took seats on the Gryffindor table next to Hermione and Ginny. Harry sat down as Dumbledore stood up and began the start-of-term speech.  
  
"Welcome, all of you, to a new year at Hogwarts. I have a few announcements to make before we delight in the delicious delectables our good kitchen has provided us with.  
  
"This year, Defense Against the Dark Arts shall be a little different than what you are all used to. Second Years and up will be receiving anti- dementor lessons, and sixth and seventh years, as usual, will have the option of Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts."  
  
Harry fell into a daze and was staring at the storm strewn ceiling, which was pouring magical rain on the students, which fortunately evaporated a few feet before it reached the low-floating candles that hung around the tables.  
  
Then Dumbledore said, "Tryouts for the Quidditch teams will take place next Monday. This year, though, Quidditch practice cannot run past seven o'clock, due to the possibility of attacks on the school. Now, though, I advise you to put all these thoughts at the back of your minds, and concentrate on the food in front of you." He spread his arms wide.  
  
Magically, all the empty trays were suddenly filled with food. As Harry pulled some roast chicken and potatoes, ketchup, and a few other choice foods the house-elf cooks had concocted, Ron leaned over to showed him what looked like a marble that was constantly changing color, and said, "Look what Fred and George gave me from there joke shop, this thing that you put in your food to make it taste like whatever you want. See, this piece of turkey?"  
  
Harry took the piece.  
  
"Now, put the marble in it."  
  
Harry did so, and thought, turn it into vanilla ice cream. He took a bite of the turkey and realized that it had gone all cold and tasted and felt exactly like ice cream.  
  
"Wow!" he said.  
  
Ron patted him on the back. As Harry leaned over to eat, Ron did it again. As he took a bite, Ron did it again.  
  
"Cut it out!" Harry said sharply.  
  
"What, mate? I haven't touched you."  
  
"So who was patting me on the back so much?"  
  
"Oh that? That was Weasleys' forever pat. If I hold it and pat you on the back, it taps you every time you move. Pretty cool, huh? Fred and George have some really neat things. I'll take it off, though.  
  
"I only brought a few to the table, but I have loads in my trunk upstairs. Like there's one that shakes your hand tighter and tighter until you tickle it. It's not dangerous, of course, it shakes your hand and then, even if your hand brakes, it heals it when it stops. . . ."  
  
That night, Harry dreamt of Sirius falling through a piece of paper, while Bellatrix laughed, then he dreamed that Malfoy had cornered him and Hermione and had hurt her, Harry took out his wand and was about to curse him, when he woke up.  
  
At breakfast that morning, Harry looked at his schedule and realized that he had Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts that afternoon.  
  
"Hey Ron," said Harry over his cereal, "I wonder who teaches Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. Maybe it'll be someone from the Order!"  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, "that would be really cool. Bet it's not Tonks though, she's way too clumsy, but don't tell her I said that," he added under his breath.  
  
After breakfast they had Transfiguration. Harry spent it trying to transfigure his rat into a tortoise, which he easily accomplished (thanks to Derek, of course) but Harry tried making it seem like hard work so now one got too suspicious.  
  
After they ate lunch, Harry and Ron went to their first Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson (Hermione had chosen not to go for some reason, though she had been accepted into every class).  
  
When Harry walked into the room with Ron, he was in for more than one shock. First of all, the teacher sitting at the desk was — Dumbledore. Second of all, it looked the same exact as his office, four floors above. It even had Fawk's perch, empty at the moment, several whirring silver contraptions and portraits of previous headmasters lining the walls above them.  
  
"Good morning," said Dumbledore, "I have decided to teach you the skills of Occlumency and Legilimency myself, as opposed to Professor Snape, who has volunteered for it the past twelve years. These two magics are just about the only things that will not come up on your N.E.W.T.s next year. However, since Lord Voldemort — " there was a collective shudder in the room, but he continued as though he had not noticed "— is a master of these magics; I think it is advisable to learn them, too.  
  
"Now — Occlumency is, as some of you must already know, is the defense of the mind against outside attackers. Legilimency, also called mind reading by Muggles, is the attack from one person to another's head, allowing him to make him recall certain memories, and see them with the victim, and read parts of their mind, which is why the Muggles call it that.  
  
"But that is magic so obscure, so deep, that we shall definitely not be learning it this year, and we might not even learn it next year. Now, I think we shall begin our first class with a few demonstrations. Mr. Potter, up here, if you please,"  
  
Harry got off his seat, which was near a black cabinet that Harry was pretty sure contained the Pensieve, and walked to Dumbledore's beautiful desk.  
  
"Now, Harry," said Dumbledore, "you have been taught Occlumency before by Professor Snape, so you must have a clue, at least, as to how to block me from penetrating your mind. We'll give it a try then, Harry. On the count of three,"  
  
Harry started to empty his mind of all thoughts and stared blankly at the desk in front of him.  
  
"One, two, three, Legilimens!" cried Dumbledore.  
  
Harry's world suddenly became a mixture of memories. Dudley's face flashed before him, his piggy eyes popping with sneering pleasure, then changed to Hagrid telling him that he was a wizard, then changed to Cho's face, eyes bright with tears, and Harry thought, no, I don't want you seeing that. Get out of my mind. Get out! OUT!  
  
Dumbledore's face suddenly swam before him. It was smiling broadly. "Well done, Harry." he said, "I'm very impressed. You forced me out with your mind and did not let me see anything at all."  
  
Harry was stunned— even with Derek's lessons, he had not been able to block a thing, but Dumbledore hadn't seen anything? At all? What about his memory of Cho crying, which had enabled Harry to block him in the first place? And why did Cho keep bringing him help with his Occlumency?  
  
Like last year, when I stopped Snape from looking at us together in the D.A. room . . . Harry thought. The lesson continued with Dumbledore teaching them how to block their minds, and giving them homework that they should write an essay on Occlumency.  
  
After the lesson, Harry and Ron were sought out by Katie Bell.  
  
"I've been made Captain of the Quidditch team," she told them, "Our tryouts are today; we're missing both Beaters again and a Chaser as well."  
  
When Harry and Ron looked confused she said, "Sloper and that other idiot, what's-his-name- well, anyway, they've left the team, good thing too, so I don't need to kick them off now.  
  
"Right now we have Ginny and I as Chasers, Ron as Keeper, and you as Seeker, Harry. So we need two Beaters and a Chaser."  
  
"What time are the tryouts gonna be?" asked Ron.  
  
"About, well, let's say right after dinner, okay?"  
  
"Fine with me," said Ron. Harry nodded in agreement. 


	9. CHAPTER NINE

After dinner that night Harry and Ron both changed into their Quidditch robes and walked out to the pitch. It was five o'clock and night was falling. Remembering Dumbledore's new rules, they had two hours.  
  
Harry shouldered his broom and walked onto the field. It was a perfect night for practice. The sky was cloudless and tinged with orange and red as the sun set. Harry knew that Dumbledore had installed lights in the pitch, making it possible to play at night, though Dumbledore's reason had been security. He kicked off on his Firebolt.  
  
Finally, thought Harry happily as he sped upward, finally on his Firebolt. Now he was back. As the wind roared in his ears he made a steep dive, skimming the grass finally and touching down to see the rest of the team coming out onto the field.  
  
"All right," said Katie, "let's get started. I've found a few people who want to try out." She pointed to six or seven people standing nervously in the background.  
  
"All right, we have for Beaters Dave Feagle, Jake Beller, Colin and Dennis Creevey, and for Chasers we have Amanda Fletcher and Emma Bowman. We can try out one of each at a time, so let's have, er, Feagle and Bowman now,"  
  
They stepped up to her. Feagle, Harry noticed, had large front teeth and freckles, with startlingly bright blue eyes and blond hair that fell into his face and Bowman had a funny walk, as if she had a sprained foot, though she seemed to have strong arms by the way she was holding her broom, a Nimbus Two Thousand One. She had dark brown eyes and matching hair.  
  
They all kicked off. Bowman moved much more gracefully in the air than on the ground and reminded Harry forcibly of Krum. Feagle was moving slowly on his broom, a Cleansweep Two Ninety, a grade lower than Ron's Three Ten. He was swinging his bat around slowly in a slightly unsure manner.  
  
"Okay," Katie yelled down to the Creevey brothers, who had the chest with the balls, "send out a Bludger!"  
  
Colin did so and the tryouts began. Harry had never seen tryouts from the field because the only one during his time on the team had been in his detention with Umbridge last year.  
  
The one Bludger shot up straight to Harry who swerved out of its way just in time. Feagle looked at Katie, who nodded, and then tore after the Bludger. He swung his bat and grunted with dismay as it shot towards Ginny. Katie clicked her tongue.  
  
"Give it another try," she said.  
  
"Give me something to aim for," Feagle said,  
  
"How about the goal posts,"  
  
Feagle went after the bludger again and whacked it. The bludger missed by twenty feet and pelted into the stands. Katie rolled her eyes as Feagle turned away.  
  
"Okay, why don't we try Chasers now? Colin, the Quaffle, please?"  
  
Colin obliged and threw it up. Katie caught it. She threw it to Ginny, who threw passed it to Emma Bowman. She was quite good, Harry thought. She caught it and zoomed to the goalposts and shot. Ron flew in the air and caught the Quaffle just before it went in and passed it to Ginny.  
  
And so it went on. Emma and Feagle were called down and Colin and Fletcher came up. Colin, it seemed was pretty good at Beating, missing one target by two feet, but hitting the rest exceptionally. Harry wondered why he hadn't tried out last year. Fletcher was terrible. He dropped the Quaffle twice in a row, and then tried scoring with it in the wrong set of goal posts. Katie called him down almost immediately.  
  
Beller was equally bad, his face getting redder and redder until it looked quite as if he was liable to pour out steam from his face, all he needed was something slightly moist, and finally Katie, out of the goodness of her heart, it seemed, called him down.  
  
Dennis Creevey was pretty good, and partnered Bowman this time. Finally the Snitch was out and Harry had something to do. He soared around watching for glimmers of gold while the game played around him. He saw Ron block another goal off Katie out of the corner of his eye and was heartened. Ron had become much better over the summer, it seemed. Harry wondered what had caused the change. A Bludger tore into his path, but Colin Creevey tore after it and whacked it away at Ginny, stopping her from scoring a goal.  
  
At seven o'clock they touched down and walked back into the locker rooms to change. Katie had decided right there who was to come onto the team.  
  
"Emma Bowman, Colin and Dennis Creevey are on, for sure. We'll have our first practice on, er, Friday afternoon after lessons are over."  
  
Harry and Ron trouped back to the Gryffindor common room, where they were met by Hermione. They told her about the tryouts, and pointed out Emma to her. Hermione nodded thoughtfully.  
  
"I know her," she said quietly, "she had a mental disorder, and it ended up being cured, but her left foot was paralyzed for life. . ." she said quietly, "I think it's a really good thing she got on the team, she hardly gets anything at all, because of her problem."  
  
Hermione shook her head sadly and walked away. Ron and Harry looked at each other in horror.  
  
* * * 


	10. CHAPTER TEN

Friday afternoon saw Harry, Ron, and Emma Bowman traipsing back to Gryffindor common room, muddy and wet, but flushed with success.  
  
"How'd it go?" asked Hermione, when she met them in the common room.  
  
"Great," said Ron, "we have the best team I've ever seen. You'd be surprised at Colin and his brother, they've got natural talent at being Beaters, they're almost as good as Fred and George, and if they work they probably'll turn out better than them."  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, "and Ron, of course, forgot to mention that he's doing loads better than last year. I don't have a clue what he's been doing with himself this summer, but whatever it was has helped loads."  
  
"And," said Emma Bowman, speaking for the first time. Her voice was low, but not grating, and she moved her hands very expressively while she talked.  
  
"And, Harry is doing really well, too. I've seen him play for five years, but this is the best he's ever done, I think. We're going to win this year, Hermione, I promise you. We're gonna show everyone! We're gonna do it!"  
  
Harry couldn't help but be heartened, and the thought of Emma expressing her views to Malfoy put a wide grin on his face. His grin widened at the thought of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match, which would be held later in the year. They would definitely be showing Slytherin.  
  
Hermione didn't have such good news. Her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were conducted by a new teacher named Fisken.  
  
". . . he's from New York and he's like eighty years old and speaks with such an accent, eurgh, like, 'Mish Granja', if you don't want t'do thish leshon, then leave! The door is thea'!' and stuff like, 'Mista Finnigan, I will not be spoken to like that again!' and he slurs half his words and he — oh, I wish I had signed for the Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts with you and Ron!"  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows and glanced at Ron, who was choking back a laugh with some difficulty; Hermione glared at him and said, "I'm not kidding, Ron! He's completely horrible! He told us he's Muggle-born and he used to teach in a jail when he was younger, probably sometime around 1850 or so, I bet! He's so old and— "  
  
She wrung her hands in frustration, and Harry put out a hand and said, "Calm down, Hermione," which she did, and Ron burst out laughing.  
  
The next morning, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves running to their Transfiguration class, making sure not to miss the first of what surely would be their hardest lessons of the year, with professor McGonagall.  
  
"Apparation," she began, as they all took their seats, "is the one of the hardest and most difficult magics known to wizards. This is mainly because it is wandless, and therefore requires the use of the mind more than regular magic, which is conducted from a wand. The use of a wand takes away much of the minds' work, making all wandless magic easier than any, I repeat any, magic with a wand. A precious few have natural talent at wandless magic, but the rest must learn the hard way, that is to say, learning the theory and studying hard, but most wizards can achieve perfection without any natural talent, Longbottom." The last sentence was addressed to Neville, who had a sad, disbelieving look on his face.  
  
"This skill is so complicated and dangerous that many wizards prefer not to use it, and find other means of traveling. However, in light of the current events, I for one, think it would be extremely useful, and therefore, worth the risks and time. Most of you will not be able to Apparate more than a couple of feet until next year at least.  
  
"I repeat, the select few who posses the ability and skill naturally will be able to Apparate inside this year. I expect all of you, yes, you too, Longbottom, to pass your Apparation tests, which will be held at the end of this year."  
  
She started out by telling them the theory of Apparating, and told them that their training and tests would be held in Hogsmeade, for the obvious reason that Apparating was impossible in Hogwarts, and assigning them homework, to look up more of the theory, and write a small essay on it.  
  
The next day Hermione had Potions, and Harry and Ron went down to the dungeons with her, Ron to gloat, but Harry was feeling slightly ashamed and angry at the same time. As they reached the door to the dungeons, Harry and Ron turned around and started towards the Great Hall for an early lunch.  
  
"I think its great having no Potions," said Ron.  
  
"Do you?" said Harry, "But I would rather have it because . . . well, because I can't be an Auror— "  
  
"What was that?" asked a quiet voice from behind him. Harry spun around. It was Dumbledore.  
  
"What did you say?" Dumbledore repeated, "Who said you couldn't become an Auror? Mr. Weasley, if you'll excuse Harry for a moment,"  
  
He motioned to Harry to follow him and walked down the hall to his office. A large statue of a griffon that Harry knew was the entrance to Dumbledore's office.  
  
"Sugar Quill!" said Dumbledore as he spread his hands out wide. As the griffon turned slowly, Harry and Dumbledore stepped onto the stairs.  
  
Dumbledore stepped off and pushed the door open wide. He sat down at his desk and motioned to Harry to take a seat.  
  
"Now, Harry," Dumbledore began, "I understand from your talk with Mr. Weasley that you could not receive Auror training because you did not get a high enough mark in Potions, and— "  
  
"Professor — "  
  
Dumbledore held up his hand.  
  
"And," he continued, "I think that because of the prophecy regarding yourself and Lord Voldemort, that it would be very wise to train you up as an Auror.  
  
"Since Professor Snape refuses to take students who have not achieved O's on there O.W.L.s, regardless who they are, or what they must do in the future, as he explicitly told me," Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile, "I think that if I were to set up private Potions in Hogsmeade twice a week or so, then the Ministry would give you the training you require.  
  
"They have no right at all to disagree, if you qualify in the N.E.W.T. level Potions, that is."  
  
Harry didn't think he would have a problem with N.E.W.T. level Potions, thanks to Derek, of course, but he couldn't tell Dumbledore, and he quickly stopped thinking about it in case Dumbledore would read it from his head.  
  
Dumbledore continued, "I have already arranged it all. You will go to Hogsmeade every Monday and Thursday to a small shop called A Cauldron Maker's Best. Do you know where it is? No?" he said, as Harry shook his head.  
  
"It's next to Durvish and Banges on the other side of the street. You will only need to bring your wand, as they have all you need for potion making. And I must ask you this Harry, where ever you go, I repeat, where ever, promise me you will always have your wand at hand. You are too valuable to the world to lose."  
* * * 


	11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

Time seemed to fly the next few weeks, leaving in its trail a blur of indistinct memories. Harry vaguely remembered his first visit to A Cauldron Maker's Best. He could only recall going there with Ron and Hermione and settling down in front of a simmering cauldron. The owner of the small shop was an old, frail-looking wizard named Aetius. He was Greek, always wore long, baggy pants, long, baggy shirts with long, baggy sleeves, and spoke with a heavy accent.  
  
He had asked Harry to concoct a potion called the Draught of Air, which gave the drinker a certain matter of time that he could survive without oxygen. Too bad I didn't get this in the Triwizard Tournament, thought Harry. It had been very easy, though that might have been simply because there was no Snape to breath down Harry's neck and taunt him as he worked.  
  
He had hardly any memory of their Quidditch practice, only remembering that their first match was. . . .  
  
"Five minutes now," said Katie. Harry woke out of his stupor. He was in the Gryffindor dugout changing into his uniform.  
  
"Right," continued Katie, who had obviously been giving a prep talk.  
  
"Right, so if you have any problems with our idea then just wave your arm or something, and we'll change to what's best, okay Emma?"  
  
Emma nodded shortly. Harry suddenly remembered that this was her first game. He decided to give her some pointers.  
  
"Hey Emma," called Harry, "come here a moment."  
  
She obliged by sliding tightly off her seat and walking over to Harry. Harry suddenly realized that he was the most experienced player on the team. He had been on as long as Katie, he realized. Hadn't Lee said at Harry's first game that Katie was a reserve the year before? And Katie for sure hadn't a record as clean as Harry's— only one loss out of all his games.  
  
And, thought Harry wryly, nobody had tried to kill her during a match, nobody had magicked a Bludger into following her during a match, nobody had sent dementors after her during a match, and the list went on.  
  
He definitely was the most experienced player on the team. He wondered vaguely why Dumbledore hadn't chosen him for Captain, but Harry didn't feel too perturbed by it; he would have declined anyway.  
  
"Emma," he began, "Listen. Why are you so nervous; Quidditch is all fun?"  
  
"Well it's my first game," she said. Her voice was a little squeaky, and she seemed to be shaking slightly.  
  
"Don't worry about that. If you remember, my first game was, well, it was bad, so don't get so pressured now." He didn't feel like explaining the terror and shock he had gone through in the first game.  
  
"Most of the old team is gone already, there's no need to feel more scared or nervous than me or Katie. Just focus on the flying, on your speed, maybe try some stunts, it lets off pressure far more than just sitting there with a closed mouth.  
  
"I mean it, just let go of everything and it'll be great. And, why should you do badly? You're one of the best Chasers I've ever seen."  
  
Harry suddenly noticed that his arm had been moving unconsciously up Emma's shoulder and he quickly removed it. Emma opened her mouth for a second, but no words came out. She opened it again and whispered, "Thank you Harry," and she sat back down more calmly.  
  
Suddenly Katie said, "Okay, good luck team," and as the doors creaked open, they mounted their brooms and shot off into the air.  
  
Madame Hooch stepped out onto the field as the Hufflepuff team shot into the air from the other side of the pitch.  
  
Before Harry knew the game began, and he shot off in search of the walnut sized, small golden ball. After several minutes he stopped and listened to the commentary. Lee Jordan, it seemed, had stayed as commentator for the match, even though he was officially out of school.  
  
"And Gryffindor leads twenty to nothing, and look at Weasley! His best game since he's been on the team, four saves, and no goals for Hufflepuff yet. Right now, Smith with the quaffle. Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff flying in with the quaffle, heading for the goalposts, come on Ron, block him. . .and he shoots and Ron . . . yes, I don't believe it, he's saved it again!  
  
"He hits it to Captain Katie Bell. Katie Bell of Gryffindor streaking up, looking good Katie — she passes to Ginny Weasley and she zooms up the pitch. She shoots and she, she — " Lee swore loudly, "— It's blocked.  
  
"Smith, Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff going up, passes to — oh, intercepted by Emma Bowman, and she goes up the field. And — ouch, hit by a bludger in the back and drops the quaf — and oh I say!"  
  
Harry and the Hufflepuff Seeker, George Edison had gone into a dive. Harry was gaining on the Snitch; he could see it fluttering right in front of him. Harry reached out and opened his hand wide, when suddenly his scar seared with pain. Harry lost control of his broom and lurched forward. He accidentally swerved into Edison's path. Edison twisted aside to avoid hitting Harry, and spiraled off. The pain in his scar suddenly receded.  
  
Harry looked around and saw — nothing, the Snitch had again disappeared. Harry flew a little farther, but it was truly gone.  
  
He soared back up and continued playing. He flew around the pitch, not really listening to Lee's commenting. A roar in the stands and Lee's sudden yell of, "Gryffindor is currently leading the match one hundred twenty to thirty and— " his voice was drowned out by booing from half the crowd.  
  
Harry's spirits soared; they were crushing Hufflepuff by ninety points, and if he caught the Snitch now, they would win Gryffindor's biggest win in six hundred fifty years! At least, Quidditch Through the Ages stated that.  
  
Harry was gazing absentmindedly when he saw something yellow drop into the midst of all the Chasers in a straight dive. His heart dropped, it was Edison. Harry tore after him, but Edison was gaining on the Snitch, he would catch it any second! Harry urged his broom faster and faster, but Edison was still ahead. Suddenly there was a loud thwack and a Bludger from Colin Creevey came pelting straight at him! He swerved out of the way and Harry, who had just caught up with him, got knocked out of the air.  
  
Harry fell off his broom. The world was going by very slowly, and Harry could see his broom plummeting down almost in slow motion. Suddenly he remembered his wand, which had been stuck up his sleeve. As he fell he pulled it out and, pointing it at himself, he yelled, "Wingardium Leviosa!"  
  
Harry rose in the air, and the stadium seemed to freeze, and he stretched out his wand and shouted, "Accio Broom!"  
  
The Firebolt came flying to him, and in the air he mounted it. Cheers erupted from almost the whole stadium as he mounted and flew back up into the air.  
  
Play continued. Gryffindor pulled ahead by four more goals, one from a penalty from Harry, and two more by superb plays from Ginny and Emma, where Ron had given it to Ginny, she had flown past everybody except the Keeper, but instead of aiming, through it sideways, directly at Harry himself, but Emma had swooped down and catching it one-handed, heaved it into the goal posts.  
  
Harry forgot what the other one was, he was having more trouble with Edison, who was marking him so closely that their knees kept bumping, and he could just hear Edison's voice swearing in a continuous, annoying murmur.  
  
But suddenly Harry spotted something . . . the Snitch!  
  
Harry tore after it, putting on all his speed. He had overtaken it within seconds. He stretched out his hand, and could almost hear the silence from the crowd as he plunged downward towards the speck of gold. With all his concentration directed at the little speck of gold, he didn't see Edison fly in and knock Harry's outstretched hand away. Harry pushed Edison with his shoulder and continued flying, the Snitch mere feet from him. Edison dropped back for a moment, but Harry, with all his focus directed at the golden ball in front if him, didn't notice. Suddenly Harry's Firebolt jerked sharply.  
  
Harry lurched forward off his broom with an odd fluttering in his chest. It felt quite good. He stayed suspended in the air for a second, then fell fifteen feet down and collapsed on the ground, unconscious.  
  
* * * 


	12. CHAPTER TWELVE

Harry woke in the hospital wing with people crowding around his bed.  
  
"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Hermione agitatedly.  
  
"I-I think so, but . . . Katie? What happened to the match? Do we get a replay? What was the final score? Who — "  
  
"What do you mean, mate?" asked Ron, "we won! The Snitch flew up your shirt as you fell! Harry, you should have seen that Edison's face when he realized you caught it! He pushed you off your broom, you know,"  
  
"Yeah?" asked Harry. But it did make sense, he thought. Now that he thought, he realized that he had to have been pushed off; brooms didn't suddenly stop flying and let their riders fly off the edge.  
  
The rest of the team talked with him for a bit, and then left, leaving in their wake a load of sweets and drinks. As Harry moved his hand toward them, Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, came out of her office and knocked his hand away.  
  
"You need rest, dear, not chocolate." She scolded sharply. Harry rolled his eyes as she turned away.  
  
Harry left the hospital wing that evening and joined Ron and Hermione for dinner.  
  
"How are you feeling?" asked Hermione immediately.  
  
"Good as new," answered Harry untruthfully. His scar was aching again, but Harry knew that Ron and Hermione would just wave it away as old, regular news if he told them.  
  
As they entered the Great Hall, Ron muttered something to Hermione and they both wandered off somewhere else. Harry didn't mind too much; the truth was that he was getting the same angry feeling he had become accustomed to last year, that he wanted to be alone and not talk to anyone.  
  
Harry suddenly didn't feel hungry. He turned around abruptly and left the Great Hall to take a walk outside. Then he remembered that it was past seven already, and students weren't allowed outside anymore.  
  
Anger welled up in him, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and try calming down. He needed a walk outside, maybe a talk with Hagrid. He hadn't visited him by himself all term yet.  
  
Harry ran up into his dormitory. He was back in a few minuets with his invisibility cloak. Harry threw it on and opened the door quietly. He walked out of the entrance hall invisibly and proceeded outside without any difficulties.  
  
As Harry stepped outside he gave a sigh of relief; finally he was alone with nobody to talk to and bother him. He trudged along until he arrived at Hagrid's hut. The sight of it led to another sigh of relief. Everything here was peaceful and tranquil and soothing to Harry's troubled mind.  
  
He lay on his back thinking about Quidditch for a few minutes and then got up and knocked on Hagrid's door. Nobody answered. Harry put his ear next to the door listening for sounds of Fang, Hagrid's dog, or perhaps Hagrid himself, but — nothing.  
  
Harry slumped back dejectedly; he had been so looking forward to speaking to Hagrid, and now it was taken from him. Harry pulled out his wand, wishing there was a spell to calm his temper. Of course, he had not learned any of them, if there were any, and in his anger, sparks shot out of the tip of his wand, scaring away several birds and a rabbit.  
  
Harry didn't bother to put back on the invisibility cloak, instead, folded it halfhazardly and tucked it under his robes. He slumped down the path and started heavily back to the school. The last thing he wanted right now was a long talk with anyone else but Hagrid.  
  
"Hey, it's Potter, and he's alone."  
  
It was Malfoy. Harry clenched his teeth and tried to block out his ears to stem the flow of his anger, which was almost at boiling point. If Malfoy makes one comment, just one, thought Harry savagely, I'm going to kill him!  
  
"Where are your friends, Potter?" asked Malfoy. Harry ignored him.  
  
"Silent treatment, eh, Potter? What's wrong, can't open your mouth without your chums behind you, is that it?"  
  
Harry snapped. Before he knew it he had his wand out and jabbed it hard in Malfoy's direction. A jet of light shot out of the tip of Harry's wand and arced over to Malfoy. He dived out of the way just in time and pulled out his wand.  
  
"Nearum Statica!" yelled Malfoy. Harry ducked under it by inches, the force of the curse making the hairs on his neck stand on end as it roared over him.  
  
"Furnunculus!" yelled Harry, using his favorite spell.  
  
Malfoy ducked and the spell hit Crabbe in the chest. He doubled over and threw up his robes to hide his face, which Harry saw was getting covered in fungus.  
  
Malfoy straightened up and yelled, "Incendia Spheria!"  
  
An orb of bright green light emerged from Malfoy's wand, getting bigger and bigger. Harry turned and ran, as he heard and explosion behind him. He turned around in spite of himself and saw in horror that a globe of light had blown out of Malfoy's wand and was burning away all the grass around him.  
  
Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy and yelled, "Expelliarmus! Stupefy!"  
  
Malfoy dodged one bolt of red light, but the Stunner hit him in the face. He keeled over and fell to the ground, unconscious.  
  
Goyle turned and ran into the castle, leaving Harry to the spoils of his victory against Malfoy. But Harry let out a yell of rage and smashed his foot against the ground in anger.  
  
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but it didn't work because Goyle suddenly reappeared with Snape at his side. Snape took out his wand, muttered, "Ennervate," and replaced it inside his voluminous black robes.  
  
"Well, well, Potter," whispered Snape, turning to Harry, "attacking a student, wandering well past Dumbledore's curfew, so I think, maybe fifty points from Gryffindor, and two weeks of detention would do you a world of good, Potter.  
  
"You will come to my office tonight for your detention, and I must tell you, that if I had my way," said Snape, leering closer and closer to Harry until he could smell his rancid breath, "you would be on the train home within the morning.  
  
"Unfortunately for me," he said, straightening up sharply. "The rules of Hogwarts do not allow me to expel you, but mark my words, Potter . . . if you misbehave like this again, I give you my word that I will ensure that you are expelled. Don't forget about tonight, Potter." He said, leaving Harry in a worse temper than before.  
  
Harry turned inside and dragged himself to the Gryffindor Common Room.  
  
As he walked inside, Ron and Hermione hailed him jovially.  
  
"Harry, come — "  
  
"Don't talk to me," said Harry shortly.  
  
"Okay," said Hermione, "we only wanted to — "  
  
"Don't talk to me, I said!" snapped Harry.  
  
"Harry, mate, what's wro — "  
  
"SHUT UP, I SAID!" Harry roared. "Can't you see I don't want to talk right now!  
  
"Whoa, Harry, we only — "  
  
Ron broke off, staring at Harry in terror. Hermione was shaking silently with tears pouring down her eyes; Harry had taken his wand out in a shaking hand, and was pointing it in their direction, his breathing fast and shallow, and his eyes were bloodshot.  
  
"OH, YEAH!" shouted Harry, "YOU ONLY WHAT? HUH!"  
  
Ron mouthed something, but no sound escaped his lips. Hermione was sobbing and shaking violently.  
  
"Harry," began Hermione shakily, "we-we only w-wanted you to-to calm dow—"  
  
"WELL I WON'T, AND SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU, OR I'LL HURT YOU! I MEAN IT, RON!" He roared at Ron, who opened his mouth again.  
  
"O-Okay," said Ron, "but I —"  
  
It was too late. Harry jabbed his wand violently at Ron and he was thrown against the wall. He let out a "Uuungh," of pain and stopped moving. Hermione screamed in terror and fled the common room.  
  
Harry looked up for a second at Hermione's retreating back and put his wand back in his robes. He looked at Ron, at his still body, and the realization of what he had just done suddenly hit him over the head like a piece of lead. That's it, Harry thought, the end of our friendship. How could he have done that? How could he have just attacked Ron and Hermione— his two best friends? How?  
  
Harry simply dropped to the floor and began crying. He picked up Ron's head and cradled it in his lap as tears poured from his brilliant green eyes and his sobs filled the common room.  
  
"Don't cry, Harry," said a voice softly from behind him. "Please don't, Harry."  
  
Harry turned around sharply and found himself staring into the soft brown eyes of Emma Bowman.  
  
"You're a powerful wizard, Harry," she said softly, "just don't lose your temper like that. Please, Harry, y-you're the most powerful wizard I've ever seen. I mean it, Harry. You weren't responsible for that. Everybody loses their temper, and people who have been touched by the Dark Side lose it more often than others. Harry, you were touched by an evil fifteen years ago, and again the past few years.  
  
"You are the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry. You have to, yes, I do know, and don't ask me how I do, but I know that you're the one who has to defeat Voldemort." She said quietly.  
  
Harry looked at her again, the tears in his eyes drying rapidly. He looked at Emma for a few moments, and said, in a voice throbbing with emotion and meaning, "Thank you, Emma,"  
  
She nodded her head and hobbled slowly up the stairs on her ruined foot. Harry was overcome with pity.  
  
"Emma," he called, "come here and let me see your foot. I know a bit about healing. Please, you can't go on like that, Emma, let me just have a quick look."  
  
Harry remembered studying this type of thing in elementary school. He remembered that this kind of thing came from shock usually, and he definitely knew how to deal with that.  
  
"Emma," Harry asked quietly, "could I ask you a private question?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Did you ever have any major problems or shocks beside the one you were cured from?"  
  
She looked at him for a moment and then asked, "How did you know?"  
  
"What d'you mean?" asked Harry.  
  
"I meant that I did have a shock, if you could call it that. My parents were divorced for many years. . . twelve, I think. I can hardly remember my father. He moved out when I was four, and I was brought up by my mother.  
  
"One day I found something extremely valuable, and I brought it home to show my mother. I came home to find that our house had been broken into. The whole place had been destroyed. I ran around the ruined house, screaming for my mother.  
  
"At last I found her. . . but she was-was, she was stabbed in the back by a- a big knife. As I looked at her she whispered something, and then. . . and then she-she — "  
  
"Died," Harry put in, in an extremely low, sad voice.  
  
"Y-Yes. I found out who it was though. Someone with," her voice suddenly became stronger and her eyes glowed passionately, "the initials D. E. They had left it on the wall in glowing green."  
  
"I know who that is also, Emma. The Death Eaters."  
  
She nodded. "I know exactly which one it was, too — Lucius Malfoy. The father of that pig, Draco. . . .  
  
"After this happened, my father came over and told me shortly that I was going to an orphanage, and that he-he was happy Mom had finally died . . .  
  
"That night I had my first mental problem. I woke up in the middle of the night screaming for my mother, and I had hallucinations until morning, when I was brought to Saint Mungo's.  
  
"I was put in a closed ward, and I was there for five years. I had really strong treatment and therapy, and thankfully it went away, except for my foot. . . ."  
  
She lapsed into silence, and Harry could not remember ever feeling more sympathy and sorrow for anyone than he did right now.  
  
"I shouldn't have asked you this, Emma," he said softly.  
  
"No," she said, "I needed to tell someone, someone like you, wh-who would understand me." She looked at Ron, still lying unconscious on Harry's lap, and looked up at Harry.  
  
"He'll be all right," she said. She turned yet again and walked back up the stairs.  
  
* * * 


	13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Emma turned out to be correct, and Ron came out of the hospital wing the next afternoon, after being brought there by Harry and Hermione. Harry had apologized in a slightly shaking voice to the two of them, who had accepted it immediately without a problem.  
  
Harry had gone to visit Hagrid again, and they spoke for a few hours, before Harry had to leave for Quidditch practice. Harry had Potions again with Aetius the next day, and spent the morning in Hogsmeade.  
  
Aetius brought him a cauldron and set it down in front of him. He brought him ingredients and instructions for his low-grade truth serum, with a long name Harry couldn't pronounce. Aetius brought these and backed away respectfully. Harry couldn't help noticing that Aetius had never shown his back to Harry. He was just going to ask why, when Aetius left the room into his office.  
  
Harry shrugged his shoulders and started working. It was the hardest, most fiddly potion he had ever tried. He doubted even Hermione would complete it perfectly. He read the instructions one last time and began adding ingredients. . ..  
  
Harry strolled casually through the Hogwarts gate two hours later feeling very good about himself. His potion had come off well, looking the right color and transparency. He had left it to simmer overnight, but it would not be ready for three more weeks, when it would finish maturing completely.  
  
Harry stepped out onto the grounds whistling softly to himself, when movement in the corner of his eye alerted him of something. He pulled out his wand and turned around quickly.  
  
It was Malfoy, alone for a change.  
  
"Hey, Potter," he drawled, "you got me our last duel, but I'm going to win this one!"  
  
"Yeah, sure you will," said Harry, "I whipped you out last time and I can do it again if I need to! It's a pity you can't talk like a normal person, Malfoy," he added as an afterthought.  
  
Harry stepped up and raised his wand.  
  
"Let's do this formally," said Harry, "on the count of three. One . . . two — " Malfoy had different thoughts:  
  
"Densageo!" he shouted. A jet of light shot out of his wand and soared towards Harry, who yelled, "Protego!"  
  
An invisible shield hit the spell and it rebounded against Malfoy, who ducked it.  
  
"Rictusempra!" yelled Harry and Malfoy at the same time. The spells hit each other halfway and bounced off into the grounds around them. "Aronia Eximay!" yelled Harry quickly. A jet of blue light shot out of his wand. Malfoy made a strange slashing movement and the spell dissolved instantly. Harry guessed that Malfoy's father had shown him that.  
  
Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry and yelled something indistinguishable, but Harry was picked up forcefully and knocked down onto the ground.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" yelled Malfoy triumphantly. Harry rolled over as a jet of red light rocketed toward him. Cheers followed this move, and more as he stood up. Cheers, thought Harry, cheers? Who's cheering? He looked over his shoulder for an instant and received a shock; half the school at least was standing on the ground watching them dueling. Harry saw Ron and Hermione cheering loudly and felt heartened.  
  
Harry jumped up to his feet and avoided a Stunning spell Malfoy had just shot at him in one fluid move, and roared, "Litnia Fireus!"  
  
A bolt of lightning shot out of his wand at Malfoy. Malfoy made the same slashing block he had done before, but not quick enough. The bolt half hit him, and he fell down to the ground in pain.  
  
From the ground he suddenly yelled, "Brackia Dementa!" and something poured out of his wand, something dark and big and sent chills up Harry's spine. Then he heard it, a voice in his head.  
  
"Not Harry, no! Take me instead!" "Stand aside, you silly girl!" No, thought Harry rapidly, hi breath constricting, it's a dementor!  
  
"Expecto Patronum!" he yelled. Chilling mist was freezing his insides, his heart, his whole body. . . .  
  
"Expecto Patronum!" he yelled again, but only mist poured out of his wand. Harry concentrated on the happiest thought he could muster, living with Sirius again, and roared, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"  
  
A silver stag, shining bright as the moon at night, erupted from Harry's wand and charged at the dementor. But the strangest thing happened: instead of disappearing or flying away, the dementor froze, and Malfoy suddenly gasped and fell down clutching his chest, which had just blown open in a shower of light and was gushing blood.  
  
Malfoy moaned something and the dementor disappeared, but the blood continued to pour in torrents from the wound in his chest. Harry looked into the crowd to see Ron and Hermione cheering and yelling for him. As Malfoy suddenly dropped to the ground in a faint, Harry raised his arms in victory, and bowed to the crowd, giving Ron a wink and getting a wide smile in return.  
  
Harry raised his arms again and yelled out loud, "YES!" Before Harry knew what was happening, the crowd had bore him on their shoulders and carried him back to the castle, still waving and cheering.  
  
This had to be the happiest memory of the past few years, thought Harry happily; Malfoy challenging him to a duel with taunts and smirks, and he had crushed Malfoy to the floor in front of the crowd, and he was still lying there bleeding. . . .  
  
Harry went to sleep that night satisfied and at peace with the world. Malfoy had been dragged by a couple of Slytherins to the hospital wing, and was lying there with a great hole in his chest. Mr. Malfoy would probably march up to the school to sort it all— wait a minute, thought Harry, Mr. Malfoy was in Azkaban right now . . . he couldn't escape and come back here!  
  
So Draco Malfoy did not have anyone marching up to the school on his behalf. Harry went to sleep with these thoughts and had strange dreams that he did not remember in the morning.  
* * * 


	14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The next day Harry, Ron, and Hermione had there first real Apparation lesson, in Hogsmeade. Professor McGonagall met them at the turn in the road past Durvish and Banges, where Harry remembered painfully, was where he had met Sirius for the first time in his fourth year.  
  
They had the class with the Slytherins, and it gave Harry a moment of happiness to see that Malfoy was not out of the hospital wing yet. Crabbe and Goyle looked more clueless than usual without Malfoy to tell them what to do.  
  
"Our first practical lesson on one of the hardest subjects known to wizards: Apparation." She Disapparated with a crack, and reappeared behind Parvati Patil.  
  
"Apparation requires you to use your imagination." She shot Crabbe and Goyle a sidelong look and continued, "You must picture the place you wish to Apparate to before you begin the procedure itself. However, we shall be learning the procedure first.  
  
"Apparating involves the breaking down of the atoms of a person and reassembling them somewhere else, somewhat like what Muggles call, er, telenporting?"  
  
"Teleporting, Professor," said Hermione.  
  
"Exactly. It is very complex, because the mind must be powerful enough to accomplish this. Most minds are not strong enough, but with training they can be honed to the right power and strength. As I said in our first lesson, a select few people have already powerful enough minds and can, therefore, Apparate with greater ease and distance, because it is harder to Apparate somewhere far away as opposed to somewhere close by, that is to say, about ten miles.  
  
"As you know, undoubtly, it is impossible to Apparate or Disapparate in the Hogwarts grounds."  
  
Hermione shot Harry and Ron a look of what was a mix of triumph and all- knowingness that caused Ron to fake vomit.  
  
"This is because," continued Professor McGonagall, "the grounds have an ancient spell, now unknown, that make the grounds so magically powerful that it is outside the world of Apparation."  
  
"The what of Apparation?" Ron asked Harry under his breath. McGonagall must have heard him because her next statement was, "The world of Apparation is another plane, a plane of magic. Time does not move there, enabling a person to move for an indefinite period in this other realm without having any time lost in this world.  
  
"The Apparation plane has links to the whole world, and by focusing all one's concentration on a certain place, a portal will open up which leads to the exact spot. But if there is no such place, you will not be able to leave the Apparation world, which is why so many wizards choose not to Apparate. There is a new branch of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad that specializes in this area of rescuing trapped people, but it has only been tested a few times.  
  
"Some places, like Hogwarts, were placed under a spell removing them from the other plane, thereby making it impossible to travel to by Apparation, and making it impossible to Disapparate from it because you will not come out onto the other world.  
  
"The most basic part of Apparation is being able to transfer yourself into this other world. This is done simply by concentrating on breaking your body down. It automatically transfers to the other world. This is, however, not the first skill you must learn. That is to concentrate on where you are Apparating to."  
  
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were most certainly not concentrating on McGonagall's speech; they had there backs to the class and were conversing together in low tones.  
  
"For our purposes a special room has been set up to Apparate into. The room is empty, making it very simple for someone to Apparate into. Here is a picture of the room. You must have seen the room in a realistic picture or painting, or have been in it, to be able to Apparate into it."  
  
She showed them the room. She was definitely right — the room was totally blank, with four bare white walls. Harry had fun imagining going there, when —  
  
CRACK!  
  
Harry was pitched forward headfirst into a wall and opened his eyes to see stars spinning 'round his head. He shook it to clear them off, and when they disappeared he realized, amazingly, he had just Apparated into the room with the bare white walls. He had done it! Apparated!  
  
Professor McGonagall suddenly Apparated next to him with a crack, shaking and clutching her heart in shock.  
  
"Explain yourself, Potter! How did you-I mean, how did you just Apparate like that? On your first lesson! Nobody has done that since-since Godric Gryffindor!" she exhaled and clutched again at her chest.  
  
Harry shook his head in amazement. Nobody had done this since Godric Gryffindor? That far back? Thought Harry in amazement.  
  
"I don't know, Professor," he said in a low voice. "One minute I was imagining going here, and the next second I just smashed into this wall. My head still hurts," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"Well," said Professor McGonagall, "if you can Apparate here, I don't see why you just Disapparate back to where we started the lesson?"  
  
Harry nodded and closed his eyes in concentration. He tried remembering every detail of the room and willed his body to break down itself.  
  
CRACK!  
  
With another bang Harry found himself looking into the eyes of the class, most of which were wide with awe and admiration, though most of the Slytherins with shock and jealousy.  
  
He let the thought course through his entire body before letting it out in a whoop of happiness; he had mastered Apparation on his first lesson!  
* * * 


	15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Time seemed to fly and before Harry knew it, he had finished his truth potion, had been to a few more Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons with Dumbledore, and most importantly, (in Harry's mind at least) their upcoming Quidditch game, which would be held in a few short hours versus Slytherin, which would decide which team it would be to enter the Quidditch finals. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had played in the rain last week, with Ravenclaw coming the winner in their close game; the Hufflepuff Seeker, Edison, had gotten to the Snitch before Cho, something which Harry found strangely pleasing, but since their Keeper's record performance in giving up twenty three goals, had lost the game two hundred and thirty to one hundred and ninety, Ravenclaw's favor, something that Harry found more strangely pleasing because he would get to beat Cho if they won.  
  
So Gryffindor and Slytherin with one victory apiece, would be competing against each other for the coveted position in the Cup. Harry had fallen asleep the other night and had dreamt of winning the Cup and having his name on a plaque in the trophy room for being Seeker when he left school, and he hoped fervently that it would come true.  
  
Ron and Hermione wasted most of breakfast the next morning trying to coax Harry into eating his cereal, but Harry felt like he had some slimy, wriggling snakes for dinner last night, couldn't eat anything. At Katie called the team for a last, short practice and go-through of their plans and rules and he gratefully left the table.  
  
After the brief pep talk, which ended with Katie giving a final good luck, the team changed into their Quidditch robes and, clutching their brooms, entered the arena to roaring applause.  
  
"Welcome all to this Quidditch match, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor!" yelled Lee Jordan, "This year's Gryffindor team — Captain Katie Bell, Ginny Weasley, Emma Bowman, Colin and Dennis Creevey, and Harry Potter! They are currently one game away from the final and are facing Slytherin. As they both have one win, this match will decide who is to be in the finals.  
  
"Anyway . . . Bell and Warrington shake hands, and the Quaffle goes up. Grabbed by— Bell. Katie Bell tearing up the pitch and— oh hit by a Bludger from Goyle, drops the Quaffle. Caught by — Montague.  
  
"Montague, incidentally, has spent some time this summer in Saint Mungo's and is now fully cured, unfortunately, and back on the Quidditch team."  
  
Boos came from the few hundred people on the Slytherin side.  
  
"Anyway," continued Lee, "he passes to Nott. Renowned son of a Death Eater — I mean respectable father — "  
  
He danced out of Professor McGonagall's reach, and succeeded, having many years of practice.  
  
"Nott goes up and he shoots and he —" Lee swore very loudly and Professor McGonagall tried to pull away the large purple microphone, but missed again, "— scores, ten to zero Slytherin.  
  
"Anyway, quaffle batted to Ginny Weasley, she zooms up the pitch, passes to Bell, who reverse passes to Bowman, she puts it up through the middle hoop, no problem, and ten points to Gryffindor, and the game is tied."  
  
Harry lost track of things for around ten minutes, circling for the Snitch, when Lee suddenly said,  
  
". . . and Slytherin leads sixty points to forty, and Weasley has the Quaffle, oh ducks a Bludger but drops it, Montague coming under her catch — whoa, Dennis Creevey hits a bludger at the Quaffle and shifts it onto Bowman's path, and she puts it through again, sixty to fifty . . . ."  
  
Harry dozed off yet again, and sped around and around the pitch, looking for the seemingly-non-existent Snitch. He realized that Malfoy was following him closely, keeping an eye on Harry just in case he spotted the Snitch.  
  
Not like there's too much sense in that, thought Harry dryly, because I do have the faster broom. Well, if Malfoy was going to follow him, he would learn his lesson the hard way.  
  
Using the Wronski Feint he had seen Krum do in the Quidditch World Cup, Harry shot down in the midst of the other twelve players, with Malfoy trying to follow him. Malfoy dove after him, but Harry had done so just to prove his point— that Malfoy's inferior broom was indeed no match for Harry's Firebolt. He remembered Madame Hooch saying how Nimbuses often developed problems after a few years of use, and Malfoy's was in its fourth year already.  
  
Malfoy looked down, trying vainly to sight the Snitch Harry was aiming for, and as Harry chanced a backward look, he saw that the Feint was indeed working. If Malfoy kept it up a second too long he would smash into the ground. He kept it up a second too long.  
  
A dull thud filled the stadium, followed the crowd laughing and cheering, while the Slytherins as one, it seemed to Harry, ground and gnashed their teeth at him.  
  
Madame Pomfrey was on the arena ground giving Malfoy something of a potion. Malfoy, himself, was white faced and shaking. Harry used the time out to float gently on his broomstick and look for the Snitch without interruption. As Malfoy climbed back shakily onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, Harry spotted it.  
  
He dove, but Malfoy, who was already near he ground, yelled, "You'll never get it, Potter!"  
  
Harry decided to show him up as a liar. Putting on all his speed, he whizzed at a spectacular one hundred fifty miles an hour, leaving Malfoy looking dumbfounded and dazed as something in scarlet robes shot past him. Harry could hardly hear anything except for the wind whistling in his ears as he put on all his speed. He stretched out his hand and reached out to catch the Snitch—  
  
WHAM!  
  
Nott, a Slytherin Chaser, had moved into Harry's path and blocked him, but Harry was going so fast that he hit Nott's head, and he fell off the broomstick. Harry turned in spite of himself as Nott, almost in slow motion, fell from his broom fifty or sixty feet and landed unconscious on the ground with a surprisingly loud WHUMP!  
  
But Nott's goal had been accomplished; Harry had lost the Snitch again. He had no choice but to resume play, but told himself that next time he would get the Snitch or perish in the attempt. Die trying, thought Harry wryly, recalling his old Captain, Oliver Wood, who had said that to him years ago.  
  
As Nott was brought to the hospital wing, Harry had the thought that now that the Slytherins were a Chaser short they would certainly not get to the Cup if Harry caught the Snitch. He proved to be right.  
  
Within the next ten minutes Gryffindor had broken the game wide open, Ron giving off one goal and pulling three more spectacular saves, while the Chasers scored seven more goals.  
  
Then, for the second time, he caught sight of the Snitch hovering by the Gryffindor goalposts. He dove a few feet and pulled out quickly, but Malfoy was shooting there also and he was much closer. . . .  
  
Harry, again, put on all his speed, and he could hardly hear a thing; his hearing had stopped working, even the wind wasn't making any noise. All he could see was Malfoy, with a triumphant look on his face, diving to the Snitch, mere feet in front of him. . . .  
  
But Harry was moving fast. He was almost level with Malfoy but Malfoy had stretched out his hand to catch it, when—  
  
CRACK!  
  
A Bludger came pelting out of nowhere and smashed into Malfoy's outstretched arm, and by the sound of it, the Bludger had broken it, Harry zoomed past him, now approaching the wall of the arena at full speed, and reached out and grabbed the Snitch out of the air.  
  
He flipped over a few times to stop himself from crashing headlong into the wall. Then suddenly his hearing returned. Lee was yelling, ". . . AND GRYFFINDOR IS GOING TO THE QUIDDITCH FINALS!"  
  
The crowd was cheering and yelling. As the team flew back down to earth, they yelled, "WE'RE GOING TO THE CUP! WE'RE GOING TO THE CUP!"  
  
Harry landed in the midst of cheering and dancing with a great smile on his face. Hermione ran over to them and shook Harry's hand and hugged Ron.  
  
Harry noticed that Hermione's face was covered in nail marks, which was probably because he had almost crashed into the wall at one hundred and fifty miles an hour, but before Harry had a chance to ask, the rest of team picked up Harry on their shoulders and marched off, while Ron and Lee, who had came down to congratulate them, went to the kitchens for food for a night long party.  
* * * 


	16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The euphoria of winning of the match seemed to last all week and well into the second. Even Professor McGonagall hadn't assigned any homework for the first five days, and Gryffindor had pulled into first place in the House Cup race, due mainly to the points Gryffindor had received for the match.  
  
Tuesday morning found Harry walking down past the Hogwarts grounds to Disapparate to Aetius' shop, where, besides making more complicated potions, he was going to inquire about why Aetius never showed his back to Harry. With these in mind, Harry concentrated on Aetius' little room with the desk and tables with potions equipment, willed his body to break down, and Disapparated.  
  
It had become much easier for Harry to Apparate of late, he had mastered it up till the ten mile range already, and he once made it twenty miles, to the Apparation point that seventh years Apparated to.  
  
He also had wondered why he never saw the other world. He had asked Professor McGonagall why this was so and he received the answer — that your body shut down temporarily while in travel, and the only way to see this other world was by Apparating to somewhere that does not exist.  
  
With a crack Harry Apparated into the front (and only) desk of A Potion Maker's Best. Aetius must have heard, old as he was, and he walked in from his office with a smile plastered on his face.  
  
"Well done, Mr. Potter! You've learned how to Apparate! Congratulations!" he exclaimed upon seeing him. He limped over to Harry, who had never noticed that before, and shook his hand warmly, after which he left the room, backwards, Harry noticed, and returned a few moments later with a cauldron and instructions for a new potion.  
  
Before Aetius had a chance to leave, Harry blurted out, "Mr. Aetius,"  
  
"Call me Aetius," said Aetius firmly.  
  
"Yes, Aetius. Well, how come you never turn your back to me?" he asked rather bluntly.  
  
Aetius' face fell slightly. He looked slowly into Harry's eyes and sat down on a chair next to him.  
  
"Let me tell you a story about myself," he began. "I am originally from Greece, from a small village near Athens. I am extremely old, as you no doubt realized," he allowed himself a sad sort of smile.  
  
"My family was very poor, and often I had to go hungry for days, there was so little to eat. I went to a private school until I was eleven, then I was accepted into a regular school, I can hardly remember the name; this was years and years back, but I went there. I finished school when I was seventeen, and I worked in the Grecian Ministry as a sub-Auror.  
  
"I was twenty two when the wizard Grindelwald, curse his name, came to power. He started a reign of terror, similar to this one that Vold-sorry, Who-Know-Who started now, only his was slightly better because Grindelwald hated creatures of any sort, and killed many that wished to join him. He did not recruit giants, dementors, or anything that Who-Know-Who admits to his ranks. I heard that he killed a pack of hydras that tried joining him. He had an all-human army.  
  
"It was very dark days . . . even despite this. Grindelwald started in Germany, and slowly took over most of Europe. He had an especially easy time with Muggles; it was the year . . . I think, 1917, and Europe was in the midst of a great war, a World War, I think they called it. Most Muggles were too involved in the war to notice the signs that Grindelwald left. He was not like Who-Know-Who — "  
  
"I'm fine with Voldemort," said Harry.  
  
"So. He was not like Voldemort because he did not leave signs of the destruction and terror he caused. Everything was done in secret. There was none of this 'Dark Mark' nonsense Voldemort leaves. If he murdered someone, he had them first kidnapped and then killed later on. Disappearances were more alarming than deaths in those days, Harry, because everything was unknown, but would have some evil, twisted purpose at the end. I know because-because Grindelwald took my parents. They were missing for over a month, but," and for the first time Harry heard a distinct sob in his voice, and he was overcome with pity for Aetius and hate for this wizard, Grindelwald.  
  
"I found their bodies, twisted and broken," continued Aetius, "and unmistakably dead for over a week. They had information on the resistance movement against him, and they were tortured until they broke and told all they knew. . . .  
  
"The next week," continued Aetius sadly, "the resistance headquarters were found by Grindelwald and destroyed. Only a few members escaped alive. Dumbledore was one. He recreated the resistance movement, called it the Order of the Phoenix, which is still here, and fought against Grindelwald.  
  
"But even with Dumbledore leading the battle against darkness, Grindelwald remained strong. He continued to fight throughout the Great War, even going until 1934. He befriended a certain German Muggle named, er, Adolph Hitler, I think. They became mutual friends and, if you could call the two most twisted minds of the century friendly, that is." He allowed himself another twisted smile.  
  
"Grindelwald had still not cracked, but he was definitely going down, and Dumbledore reckoned it was only a matter of time until Grindelwald would be brought to his heels.  
  
"Meanwhile, Hitler began another war, and directed it against Poland and England. He and Grindelwald designed it perfectly, or almost perfectly— they had been too ambitious. The English wizards joined in the war against Grindelwald, who was already fighting in lower Europe, like Italy, Greece, and countries around there. With the English in the fight, Grindelwald foresaw his inevitable defeat. He gathered his army and prepared for a last stand. This was in 1944.  
  
"Hitler's enemies had just invaded Europe, and morale was probably at its lowest point in both armies. Dumbledore thought the time was ripe for another attack. I had been fighting for years, and I was a commander in the Grecian division, and I led the first charge against him. I was in my early forties.  
  
"I had my wand out, and had attacked someone, when I was hit from behind by something. I am sure it was not a spell, but I was knocked unconscious and brought to England for treatment in Saint Mungo's Hospital, then newly opened.  
  
"The battle was a stalemate; neither side had enough power to win, and Grindelwald withdrew. The next year Hitler committed suicide with his wife, and Grindelwald's sanity was shook. Dumbledore fought him in single combat later on and defeated him.  
  
"You asked why I never have turned my back to you: this is the reason. Look closely, Harry."  
  
He turned around slowly, and Harry let out a yell of shock; a huge, red, jagged scar had been cut into the back of his head, from the scalp all the way down into the loosely-hanging shirt that Aetius always wore. Aetius turned back around and nodded sadly.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir — " said Harry quietly, but Aetius cut him off, suddenly brisk.  
  
"None o' that, boy, none o' that, I'm fit as a fiddle now, or whatever twaddle they use these days. By the way, Mr. Potter, when are you planning on doing this potion?"  
* * * 


	17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

At lunch that day, Harry's bad temper had, for some reason, returned, so when Ron and Hermione had asked how his potions had gone, he had snapped at them sharply and told them to clear off. They had not cleared off, and Harry had taken out his wand at them, but caught himself before he snapped, and, breathing deeply, had walked off. Ron and Hermione didn't speak to him the rest of the day.  
  
Harry had trouble falling asleep that night with his mind swirling around Aetius' story, and when the bells tolled for one in the morning, Harry gave up all hopes of rest, and seeing the light in Hagrid's hut still shining, he fetched his invisibility cloak and slipped out of Gryffindor tower and the rest of the castle to have a talk with Hagrid.  
  
Harry stepped onto the grass outside the Entrance Hall and breathed a sigh of relief; he was finally going back to Hagrid's hut, something he had been yearning for a long time.  
  
He was so glad that he hardly noticed Ron and Hermione standing out on the grounds alone until he almost bumped into them. He wondered what they were doing out here. As he moved closer, Harry realized that they were in the middle of a conversation that he was definitely not supposed to be part of.  
  
"I do understand, Hermione," Ron was saying. He was speaking in a low, soft voice Harry had never heard him use.  
  
"You're worried about Harry."  
  
"Yes," whispered Hermione, "he's been getting so angry lately," Harry felt stung, as if Hermione knew he was in hearing range, that is to say, two feet away from them. "He's a powerful wizard, Ron, but he's losing himself so much! We're his friends, Ron, we've got to help him out of it, he can't do it by himself, we've just got to help him, Ron. And I know he's hiding something from us, don't you remember when he turned up in Grimmuald Place and you asked him, 'what happened to you?' and he was all nervous and everything? Somewhere he learned a lot of magic, and he's using it, too. . . . 'Member all those spells he used against Malfoy when they had that duel? And the wandless magic? And how about all his lessons that he's suddenly become top of? "  
  
"I know, I know. . . ." said Ron. "But maybe there is someone who could help us: that new girl, Emma. Remember her? Harry likes her, a lot, I know that, and she could help him sort out his anger, and she also needs the help Harry gives her, he was the one who calmed her down at that first match against Hufflepuff. He motioned to her and they whispered to each other for a bit, and then she was suddenly all fine. They definitely like each other . . . the way I like you," he whispered.  
  
Harry noticed that Ron's arms were moving up Hermione's back until his hands were resting on her shoulders, with his arms under hers.  
  
"I really like you, too, Ron," Hermione said softly. They were standing very close to each other, and Harry decided to give them privacy whether they knew it or not and turned and went back to Gryffindor tower, his desire to talk to Hagrid completely satiated. . . .  
  
* * * 


	18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Harry fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillows and slept right through breakfast, and would have continued if Ron had not walked into the dormitory and sprinkled Harry with some cold water from his wand tip.  
  
"Wha-who-huh?" Harry asked stupidly.  
  
"Get up, mate, it's time for Charms and Hermione is going crazy, she says you'll miss the new lesson; Flitwick's teaching something new today, I think."  
  
Harry got up quickly, changed into his robes halfhazardly, swung his bag over his shoulder and ran after Ron all the way to Flitwick's room and scuttled inside just before Flitwick cleared his throat and began.  
  
"Today we shall begin to learn the most complicated of all Charms magic taught in this school. It is so immensely difficult," for a little wizard, Harry thought he possessed an extremely immense vocabulary.  
  
"It is so immensely difficult," continued Flitwick, "that the bulk of our procedures will carry on into, and probably right through seventh year. Like all magics, a select few people are naturally good at this type of work, namely creating your own charms.  
  
"This is a very unique type of work. Like the Patronus Charm, the type you create depends on your character type. What is unique is that you will only be able to invent a certain type of Charm, no other, but . . . but if someone else has already invented a charm you will be able to use it. I believe that the Dark Wizard, Mallastor, invented the Cruciatus Curse, which happens to be not an actual curse, as most think it to be, but a very deep and complicated charm. Incidentally, Mallastor was expelled from Hogwarts when he invented this charm, and became known as the Dark Lord, though this was hundreds of years ago.  
  
"Luckily he was killed by a wizard named Alexander Mallory, his own cousin, who heard what his plans were, and set out to kill him, which he managed by taking a thing called a musket. He shot him through the heart.  
  
"But enough of this nonsense, we will now begin the process."  
  
As Harry listened to Flitwick's more and more complicated speech he felt certain that he would have none of the natural talents he displayed in Quidditch and Apparation. In fact, he hardly had a clue what Flitwick was talking about. The only person paying enough attention that was possible to notice was Hermione.  
  
Ron was staring at the back of her head; Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were whispering to one another; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were gazing off into space; and Harry was looking at everyone else. Only Hermione had her head cupped in her palm and was lapping up all of Flitwick's words in rapt attention.  
  
Harry's head fell into his hands and from there, onto his arms, and his eyes drooped and closed.  
  
How I wish I could sleep. . . . Harry thought sleepily.  
  
He yawned and lifted his eyes, but they were so heavy. . . .  
  
He closed them one more time, and immediately sank into sleep. . . .  
  
He was alone with Hermione under a balcony in the courtyard. . . . They were talking to each other very deeply, but he could not make out what they were saying; he had a third person view of the whole thing. . . .  
  
Suddenly Hermione dashed at Harry and wrapped her arms around his neck and began to sob into his shoulder. He could see himself patting her on the top of her head gently and rubbed her back, and after a few moments she straightened out and stopped crying.  
  
As they turned to go, footsteps rang in the yard, and three people appeared: Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.  
  
Suddenly Harry's hearing became clearer and he managed to make out exactly what they were saying: Not much.  
  
Malfoy laughed and pointed his wand at Hermione.  
  
"Feiria!" he yelled clearly, at the top of his voice.  
  
Harry suddenly felt an enormous surge of pain in his scar, and yelling in pain, he woke up. The Charms classroom swam into view, but a white light that was so strong it made Harry's eyes squint, was shining, and his scar was burning so badly he had to will himself not to faint or be sick.  
  
Hermione looked over him, her eyes wide with fear.  
  
"What happened, Harry? Is it Voldemort? Did you see something? What — "  
  
"I'll tell you later," said Harry, wincing as his scar burned sharply. He dimly heard Parvati tell Lavender, "Look how bright his scar is. . . ."  
  
Flitwick looked over his pile of books and said, "Mr. Potter, are you all right?" in his squeaky voice.  
  
"No-I-I mean, yeah, yeah I'm fine," Harry stuttered.  
  
Truth be told, Harry wasn't feeling fine at all; on the contrary, he felt weak and feverish and wished he could go lie down on his four poster bed and never wake up again, but that really was beyond hope right now.  
  
Harry finished the lesson sleepily, not taking in a word Flitwick said about inventing charms and the famous witches and famous wizards who created famous charms, and hardly heard the bell ring for the end of class, and just managed to make out Flitwick telling them to research about the inventing of charms in the library, and he queued them up for signatures for Madame Pince, the librarian, so they could use the Restricted Section of the library, a part that Harry had never been allowed in for school work, though had chanced through there several times with his Invisibility Cloak.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurried out of Charms class and proceeded to the entrance hall, where they once again queued up in a line to go to Hogsmeade for Apparation lessons.  
  
They passed by Filch and strode down the road to Hogsmeade, chatting about what they hoped would be happening this lesson. Ron had already began Apparating throughout the room, meaning to say that with a feeble crack he would appear suddenly next to someone else, or perhaps on top of their shoes, causing slight chaos among the class, and also causing Draco Malfoy to snigger.  
  
Though Harry couldn't tell exactly what Malfoy was sniggering at, as he couldn't even get 'cracking' as Ron liked to call it.  
  
Hermione was doing better, though she too was unable to get out of the room under normal circumstances; she once landed in Dervish and Banges' cellar room, empty at the moment, and once by luck, it seemed, Apparated into the receiving room where they were all aiming at.  
  
But best in the whole class was Harry, who was already Apparating to the farthest receiving room Hogwarts had, and filled with an assortment of colors and shapes, making it harder to picture.  
  
As they rounded the last corner and crossed the street to the Apparation 'test room' as it was called.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the room to find it full, and they had to cram into the back of the room for what would turn out to be an interesting lesson. Interesting, not in the material, but in what would happen shortly after the beginning.  
  
Malfoy, who was standing close by them, motioned and they approached warily.  
  
"What d'you want, Malfoy?" Hermione asked sharply.  
  
"Nothing that would interest a Mudblood, I'm sure, neither would the weasel over there — "  
  
"Can't you possibly get any new insults after six years? It's really pathetic, you might want to know," sneered Ron.  
  
"Don't call me pathetic, Weasley," Malfoy warned him.  
  
"Well," said Ron amicably enough, but Harry noticed his hand clenched around his wand under his robes.  
  
"Well, it is rather pathetic, you're so unorigi — "  
  
Malfoy suddenly clenched his fist and slugged it into Ron's chest.  
  
"Oof!" Ron grunted in pain, and then collapsed on the floor holding his stomach.  
  
"You'll regret that, Malfoy," said Harry quietly.  
  
"What? Punching him out? As he said before, he is rather pathetic. I mean, one sock in the chest and he's out like a light, I mean, that is pathetic, he's — "  
  
He broke off as something collided violently with his chest and made Malfoy double over and fall to the floor. Harry viewed the scene calmly, and muttered to Hermione, "Told you he'd regret that, Hermione,"  
  
Malfoy was stirring, and he seemed to motion to Crabbe and Goyle, but they didn't notice him so Harry walked over to them.  
  
"Your boss's on the floor, he wants you two to beat me up, I think,"  
  
They looked at him stupidly for a few moments until Harry's words sunk in, and then they slowly lumbered over to Malfoy, who was lying on the floor net to Ron —  
  
But Ron was already up and dusting himself off. He was also whispering to Hermione slightly. Harry mentally raised an eyebrow, but remembering what happened last night. . . . He stifled a grin.  
  
They returned to school after two hours for lunch, and then Harry bid Ron and Hermione good-bye and went to his own Potions class in Hogsmeade.  
  
As Harry walked down the path from Hogwarts he remembered his talk with Aetius and the sad story he had told him afterward. Hate for Grindelwald rose inside Harry like hot flames, choking him and making him unconsciously grind his teeth in frustration. He remembered that Dumbledore had defeated him 'in single combat'  
  
Harry didn't realize that his feet had already brought him to A Cauldron Maker's Best.  
  
He entered to see a strange sight: Aetius was bent over something, his back to Harry, and his head was sunk into . . . a Pensieve.  
  
"Aetius?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed; he had only seen one Pensieve in his entire, if not that extensive, wizarding career, and that one Pensieve belonged to Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age and headmaster of the best school of magic in the world.  
  
"Aetius?" Harry asked again. "Aetius!"  
  
Aetius lifted his head out of the Pensieve and turned around. Harry stared: Aetius's head was covered with a silvery, foamy, flowing, solid-wind substance, which Harry realized was the contents of the Pensieve.  
  
Aetius's expression was the worst he had ever seen. His face seemed to sag with unhappiness that for some reason chilled Harry's back and he shivered.  
  
"Wh-what happened?" Harry asked.  
  
"Remember my story, Mr. Potter?" began Aetius tiredly. Harry nodded. Aetius jerked his head in the direction of the Pensieve morosely.  
  
"Dumbledore wanted you to see it, he spoke to me a little before you arrived here, and I always listen to Dumbledore, so come to the back with me . . . Very good, Mr. Potter. Now take a deep breath and put your head right in . . . You-you'll see everything. . . ." for the first time his voice cracked.  
  
Harry nodded and obeyed. Looking in the Pensieve he could dimly see long lines of moving soldiers, with Dumbledore at the head. . . . Taking a long breath he sucked in as much air as he could and plunged his head into the Pensieve.  
* * * AN:thanx so much to the guys who've sent me reviews already, I had no idea how encouraging it is to get them. Also my new law (you know, not law like 'police' but law as in 'Murphy's Law') well it's that every ten reviews you get one flame. Hope I'm overestimating, but it's all up to you. 


	19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

Looking over to his left he saw the marching soldiers stop moving as a loud shout rent the warm, heavy air. "HALT!"  
  
As one the army saluted and they immediately set to work building a temporary camp; as many took out their wands they exchanged rueful glances and returned them to belts or sheaths. Harry realized that they probably were under 'magic-silence' which he remembered from reading books about radio silence. He also remembered last summer, where a group of wizards had rescued him from the Dursleys and had not even talked about magic.  
  
Harry moved closer to the people building tents, glancing casually, almost, at the many groups of people. He saw several nationalities there, like English, and French, judging by the languages they were speaking in, but he even saw Italians and Orientals, and many Greeks, of whom one could only have been a younger Aetius. He was talking to a person with jet-black, messy hair, hazel eyes, and a thin face that could only belong to one person at this time — Harry's grandfather.  
  
His heart suddenly pounding in his chest and his breath constricted, Harry moved closer to what was a carbon copy of James.  
  
AN: It's the reverse of it; James is a carbon copy of him, but I don't know a word for that.  
  
"Casp!" asked Aetius.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What are you thinking?"  
  
Harry's grandfather, obviously called Casp, furrowed his brow and frowned thoughtfully.  
  
"I'm wondering about the war . . . what it'll take us all into . . . what it'll turn us all into . . ."  
  
"I meant a little closer to earth,"  
  
"Oh," said Casp. "Well I was thinking about how we're beginning to mix with the Muggle soldiers here. I mean, we're already marching with them, eating with them, fighting with them . . . dieing with them even. . . .  
  
"What d'you think will come out of it all? Some wizards are already using their weapons, d'you know,"  
  
Aetius nodded, his gaze far off.  
  
The view suddenly changed and Harry reappeared in the camp a few hours, or even a whole day, maybe, later. The camp had been completed and sentries patrolled around its few borders with machine pistols and wands stuck in their belts.  
  
Odd combination, thought Harry dryly. A few soldiers who were wearing looks of great discomfort or distrust on their faces seemed to agree with him.  
  
A sudden crash of sound made him jump and twist around quickly. Two sentries suddenly crumpled to the ground. As Harry approached the sight he almost vomited in disgust.  
  
The two dead men lay on their backs with feet pointing straight up, ones hat had fallen to the floor and his head was pouring blood into it; the once grey had began to lose it's stiffness as it filled with dark blood. The top of the man's face had been blown away, and he —  
  
Harry looked away, the bile rising in his throat once again. His first sight of death. . . .  
  
The other sentry was no better. As Harry looked at him a trumpet suddenly blew brazenly and someone roared something to the wind.  
  
Men suddenly leapt out of tents holding their rifles and machine pistols and running to the commotion.  
  
"What's happening?" Harry heard someone ask.  
  
A low voice answered him back urgently.  
  
"Germans, curse them! Attacked two nights ago and we manage to beat them, lost four men, and now they're back again! I think the order about wands is gonna go out soon."  
  
The man pulled out an automatic rifle and released the safety catch as he ran towards the not-far-off gunfire.  
  
Harry ran with him, wanting to see what would happen . . . hoping Casp wouldn't be hurt in it; he had seen him running out of a tent, Aetius closely behind him, holding a rifle in his hands, with a pistol and wand in a combined sheath strapped to his belt.  
  
Harry reached the action after a few seconds of running and he immediately closed his eyes in revulsion. Several Germans seemed to have managed to breach the barbed wire fence and had reached almost where Harry stood.  
  
It had been too close for gunfire, and the smashed heads of about five dead German soldiers spilled blood over the ground, while a nearby soldier tried crawling away.  
  
A loud sound suddenly blew over Harry's head and the swishing sound of twenty five wands being drawn simultaneously filled the air. Spells flew in the air, German soldiers' eyes popping out in shock for a few moments before many closed for the last time. . . .  
  
Aetius and Casp had been cornered and were fighting back-to-back, surrounded by six cocky, overconfident German soldiers. Harry saw Casp's fingers close around his wand and yell something.  
  
A bright red dome of light suddenly grew around them. Harry watched, in slow motion almost, as the Germans one by one pasted expressions of pure terror for half a moment, and then the dome of light burst and the bodies of six dead Germans fell to the ground with loud thuds.  
  
As Aetius clasped Casp's hand a harsh voice yelled, "Alright men, let's MOVE!"  
  
Magically the tents packed themselves and the world once more revolved around Harry, coming back once more on a dirt road where Muggle soldiers rode along in jeeps and tanks, singing war songs victoriously.  
  
Their commander stood aloft in the foremost tank, silhouetted against the setting sun and striking a pose that made the hair on Harry's neck stand on end. . . .  
  
Or was that the reason? Harry suddenly shivered; some sixth sense warned him that something . . . something was very wrong.  
  
He was very right. At first he only saw an orange thread-like substance arc through the air and strike the commander in the head. He collapsed as if a mountain had fallen on him.  
  
Then a thunderstorm of noise erupted and Harry cringed as several missiles exploded on the nearby tanks, one of them several feet from Harry.  
  
He watched aghast as three men in a truck immediately behind the destroyed tank were thrown in the air out of the truck, as machine gun fire carried out its deadly work, leaving three corpses of what were unrecognizable as human beings. Harry heard a soldier near him wretch and felt like joining in.  
  
He wandered what this had to do with Aetius, but was answered quickly enough.  
  
As troops jumped over the edges of the jeeps, five wizards suddenly dropped from several trees nearby onto the road and at once fanned outwards to the enemy ambush.  
  
Harry recognized his grandfather, who looked around twenty at the time, and saw him glance at Aetius and replace the Bren machine gun he was carrying in his hands and unsheathe a wand.  
  
He waved it violently in the direction of the German troops and was rewarded by a red beam of light that soared slowly through the air to them and land, lazily, almost, in their midst.  
  
A huge explosion rocked the ground as the German bodies were flung into the air bodily and thrown to the ground. Harry heard the almighty snap as one of the necks cracked against a nearby tree. . . .  
  
Harry looked away, sickened, but it didn't help at all; two more Germans fell to the road and a tank rolled over them. Two soldiers, both with casts on their arms, and one with a bloodstained bandage around the head, cheered loudly and many others ran over to the small band of wizards to congratulate them. Three soldiers stared in shock at Harry's grandfather, while Aetius walked over and patted him on the back.  
  
"Good work," he said quietly.  
  
"I-I killed them — they're-they're dead! I — "  
  
"You did what was right. You saved scores of lives with that spell . . . what was it, by the way?"  
  
"Oh-oh, that," he seemed happy to get off the subject. "That was just an advanced version of a Stunner, and it has a type of — er — push, if you can call it. You remember when they briefed us about spell negatives? Yeah? Well this has a really strong negative, it reacts to the positive force in the air and it just erupts, that's really what most spells and charms are, you know. You might know him or not, I dunno, but our Charms teacher, Flitwick, he told us that after we graduated seventh year at Hogwarts."  
  
"Never learned that in Greece, I guess. And of course I know Flitwick, who doesn't after he took down Sylvaticus in that power duel in Rome?"  
  
"I forgot about it; don't go for those stuff usually. Anyway, now that you mention it, Flitwick did use that spell against the other guy before Sylvaticus, what's-his-name, remember?"  
  
"What are you guys talkin' about?" a soldier asked them quizzically, his eyebrows contracted slightly in concentration.  
  
"The old days . . ." said Casp. "A different world, if you understand. . . ."  
  
"I do, I think." The man replied. "Never seen you guys, but I've heard stories about strange folks like you guys from some of the old boys. Said we're not to tell anyone who ain't a soldier, by the way. You know that, I imagine. I'm Tom, by the way,"  
  
"Caspian," said Harry's grandfather. "But you can call me Casp, they all do."  
  
"Aetius, I'm Greek," said Aetius. "Nice to meet you."  
  
AN: I'm listening to LOTR two soundtrack, really uplifting for this story, some of the tracks. My favorites are tracks 3 and 16. Any of you guys have it? If you guys want I can do one more battle by Tuesday or Wednesday, or I can go straight to the final one with Aetius. Review and tell me what you want. Goes by vote. And thanks to everyone and especially to David305 for being helpful (not sarcastic) if I ever revise this story I'll change it a lot thanx again. 


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